


Second Spin [+Podfic]

by xinasvoice



Series: Second Spin [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 17 year olds smooching, Alternate Universe - Afterlife, Attachment Disorder, BDSM, Baby Teddy Lupin, Bisexual Sirius Black, Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Bring Back Black, Cheating, Christmas, Crying During Sex, Depression, Desi Potter Family (Harry Potter), Dumbledore is a sociopath for the greater good, Everybody Lives, Exhibitionism, First War with Voldemort, Flashbacks, Flogging, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Fred Weasley Lives, Harry Potter Needs a Hug, Healing, KINKS:, Lie Low At Lupin's (Harry Potter), Light Bondage, M/M, MAJOR THEMES:, MISC:, Marauders' Era, Minor Fleur Delacour/Bill Weasley, Minor Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Nymphadora Tonks Lives, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Podfic & Podficced Works, Podfic Available, Podfic Length: 7-10 Hours, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Processing Trauma, Racist Villian, Raising Teddy, Remus Lupin & Nymphadora Tonks Live, Remus Lupin Lives, Rough Sex, Sirius Black & Remus Lupin Live, Spanking, Touch Aversion, WARNINGS:, a bit of internalized kink shaming, brief consent issues, brief domestic violence, but probably not in the way you are thinking, chosen family, except James and Lily, infant neglect in flashback, offscreen murder, restructuring codependent relationships, several actually, sirius is a sadist, some suicidal ideation, sorry - Freeform, the Marauders are child soldiers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-08-04 02:58:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 73,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16338530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xinasvoice/pseuds/xinasvoice
Summary: In which Sirius gets a lot of second chances.A canon-inspired look at Sirius’ relationship with Remus (and himself) throughout his lifetime.





	1. First Light

**Author's Note:**

> This fic gets a little dark and heavy (please see tags), but overall it is a positive story about redemption and healing. It follows an approximately canon timeline except don’t talk to me about the last two books.
> 
> Podfic duration: 7hr 14min 42sec  
> ~ .m4a audio file [Part 1](https://soundcloud.com/user-824292289/second-spin-part-1?in=user-824292289/sets/second-spin) (343.6MB) [Part 2](https://soundcloud.com/user-824292289/second-spin-part-2?in=user-824292289/sets/second-spin) (439.5MB) ~ [ .m4b audiobook file](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1K2QDPv6Lk1DHpIozZ9U8Ogvhpu-UOHSD/view?usp=sharing) (812.2MB)
> 
> Soundtrack: [Main](https://8tracks.com/xinasvoice/second-spin-2) ~ [The B-Side (Songs for Remus)](https://8tracks.com/xinasvoice/second-spin-the-b-side)
> 
> Ending music is Save Me by Gotye [Buy it on iTunes](https://itunes.apple.com/us/album/save-me/515540038?i=515540661)
> 
> Thank you to Beta Reader, the infinitely patient [ForeverShippingJohnlock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForeverShippingJohnlock/works)  
> and the uncommonly available [Emily_Woods](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emily_Woods/pseuds/Emily_Woods/works)

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/158228914@N03/45417712725/in/dateposted-public/)

_And for have I, belonged to no one_  
_more than fleetingly and in doubt._  
_I have had what now is gone_  
_but still I've known them._  
_And for have I, I have absolved myself_  
_of demons I must confess._  
_Having known them, growing old, then_  
_I will rest._  
  
_But where are all the songs_  
_For me to sing along to?_  
_I am hoping someone writes one for me._  
-I Am Sound, by The Dandy Warhols

 

It was late on a Friday evening in the Gryffindor common room. The fireplaces crackled merrily, and an early snow blew in dreamy drifts against the windows. It was also late in the evening on the birthday of one Sirius Black, which meant every Gryffindor old enough to appreciate the Marauder definition of a party was present, with a few Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws for variety’s sake. Suspiciously strong bottles of Butterbeer were present in many hands, despite Lily’s efforts to restrict their distribution to the of-age students. Right now, everyone was arranged in a lopsided circle on the floor, focused on one bottle in particular: an empty one that lay in the center.

“You spin it,” Sirius explained. “Then you have to kiss the person it’s pointing to when it stops.” He was draped casually over the seat of the couch behind him, which had been pushed out of the way along with the rest of the common room furniture.

Lily rolled her eyes. “You know, Muggles play this game too. Ten-year-old Muggles.”

“This’ll be better,” James said, with the conviction of a Marauder faced with the prospect of a game likely to cause people to laugh hard enough to snort spiked Butterbeer up their noses.

“Right, but we're playing clean rules,” Lily said.

“What's clean rules?” Sirius asked suspiciously.

“Both the kisser and the kissee have to agree to do it, or they only get a kiss on the cheek.”

A chorus of protests went up from around the circle. Sirius abandoned his pose of calculated relaxation and hollered over the others, “That's not on! You'll suck all the fun out—”

“ _Think_ about it, Black. You don't really want _anybody_ to be able to kiss _anybody_.” Lily's hands were on her hips, and her wand was already out, a habit—one might say survival skill—acquired around the same time she had started to tolerate close contact with the Marauders. This contact had become a bit too close for comfort in Sirius' opinion, as evidenced by James' next words.

“She's right.” James drew himself upright into his best Head Boy position of authority, assuming that authority was one that had just recognized the possibility of certain recently acquired girlfriends kissing people that weren't himself. “Consent and all that. Can't have people getting traumatized.”

“It's _my_ birthday—” Sirius started to say, as watching James freak out while other people kissed Lily was actually the _entire point_ of this game, but Remus—logical, reasonable Remus—interrupted him.

“Raise your hand if you're in favor of clean rules.”

The students looked at each other warily, evaluating. Lily's hand went up immediately, as did James' and Remus'—those _traitors_ —and slowly other people joined them until there was a clear majority. Notable exceptions were Peter and a few of the other less attractive students. Peter probably thought no one would agree to kiss him otherwise. Privately, Sirius wondered about that, seeing as he had caught at least a few girls staring after Peter with wistful expressions, him being the most attainable member of their illustrious group, but the boy seemed oddly determined to live his entire life with self-esteem the size of the rat he often turned into.

Sirius groaned at the show of hands and dropped his head onto the seat of the couch behind him in defeat. Clearly, he should have invested more energy into getting Remus drunk.

“There you have it, Pads,” Remus said with his usual mild manner. “You can either play clean rules with everyone or play the other way with just the people who kept their hands down.”

“Clean rules it is then,” Sirius sighed, as the second option would leave him making out with the three ugliest girls in the room and also Peter. People who wanted to kiss Peter might exist, but Sirius was definitely not one of them. “You can do anything from a kiss on the cheek to a full-on, twenty-minute, clothes-gone-astray mack on each other, but you only get thirty seconds to negotiate, and absolutely no interference from third parties.”

He punctuated this with a significant look at James, who scowled back at him. Sirius just grinned. All hope was not lost. Lily was a good sport, and she was probably just as interested in watching James wibble uncomfortably with jealousy as Sirius was.

Clean rules turned out to be more fun than he had imagined. Watching people try to convince each other to make out with them in thirty seconds was frankly hilarious. Plus, there was a lot of public kissing going on and there was no getting around the fact that it was enjoyable to watch, especially when Sasha Patil happened to spin the bottle at his girlfriend and snogged her in an extremely showy fashion for a good five minutes until the people next to them laughed and pulled them apart.

“Be gentle with me,” Sirius whispered with lusty innocence when someone finally spun him. It was just little Maggie Alexander from Ravenclaw. In the face of his bedroom eyes—which he and James made a habit of practicing competitively in the bathroom mirror every morning—she stammered so hard that he had no idea what she was saying. In the end, he took pity on her and gave her a simple kiss on the lips. She was only a fifth year and obviously not ready for the gloriousness of a true patented Sirius Black smooch.

Preema Batra clearly was, however, and it took a lot less than thirty seconds to convince her to let him kiss her properly. She was unexpectedly assertive, and he found himself stumbling a little on the way back to his seat, making a mental note to take her aside after all this for a follow-up.

Preema spun Remus, who accepted a kiss but pulled back after just a few seconds, laughing and straightening his glasses. Sirius shook his head fondly at this. Always the proper Prefect, that one, even when he wasn't actually a Prefect anymore.

Remus spun the bottle, and everyone _oohed_ when it came to rest pointing directly back at Sirius. This would be the first same-gender kiss, and seeing as it would take place between two Marauders, the students seemed to have high expectations.

Remus crawled around James until he and Sirius were nose to nose. Sirius smiled, reminded of Padfoot and Moony smelling each other in greeting. Remus always smelled good, and today was no exception.

Remus didn't make any use of his allotted thirty seconds unless you counted the time he spent looking Sirius over with a sneaky half-smile. Sirius didn't say anything either. Obviously, he was game for anything, seeing as the game itself had been his idea to begin with. Still, he was fully expecting a quick peck on the cheek, due to the whole proper Prefect thing, so he was surprised when he felt the press of Remus' lips against his own.

It wasn't a terribly exciting kiss as far as kisses went, or at least it shouldn't have been. There was no movement, no wetness, no press of bodies, none of the things that made kissing fun. But it went on just a bit longer than a chaste kiss should have, and Sirius' lips were still tingling from—who had it been? Suddenly he couldn't remember her name, or even her face—and as Remus finally pulled away, their lips dragged roughly together, just for a split second. That brief friction was enough to strike a tiny match right in the dark, hollow cave of Sirius' chest, bringing a flare of light where none had ever been before.

Remus went back to his seat, and Sirius fanned himself like a blushing maiden for the appreciative crowd. But underneath, he was cupping his hands around the tiny light near his heart, already protective of it—which made sense considering it had come from Remus, and protecting Remus had become a core part of his identity years ago—but, still, _what the fuck was that?_

Well, he wasn't a Marauder and a Gryffindor and an outcast Black—in that order—for nothing. It was his turn again, so once he had the bottle spinning, he snuck his hand into his pocket and nudged it with his wand, just a little, (which was a good idea regardless, because it had been about to stop on James, and that was _so_ not on) until the neck of the bottle was pointing right back at Remus. The students broke into incredulous laughter at this turnabout, and there was much nudging of elbows into sides.

“Outta my way, James,” Sirius drawled. He climbed across James' lap, making sure to poke him with his knees on the way as much as possible, just on principle. James hollered and shoved him, so he ended up tumbling down in front of Remus, flushed and excited. He pulled himself upright on the floor, tossing his head to regain some dignity. Remus was leaning back on his hands, eyebrows raised and drawn together in amusement and enough confusion to make Sirius suspect his trick with his wand had not gone unnoticed. Sirius ignored this and leaned forward to whisper in his ear. “So, more of the same, or shall we give them a proper show?”

Remus rolled his eyes and smiled. “Oh, go on then.”

Sirius beamed, and then they were kissing, _really_ kissing this time. Everything that had been missing from the first kiss was suddenly there, right against him, and then underneath him as he pushed Remus backwards onto the floor. Or perhaps Remus had pulled him down. It was hard to be sure when they were working together like this. Remus' lips were silky and determined, and his tongue was in Sirius' mouth. Sirius gave as good as he got, but it wasn't easy. Remus obviously knew what he was doing, which meant Sirius would have to thump him later, because Remus had let all the Marauders believe he was as innocent as can be, but there was no way the boy underneath him right now was a virgin. No way. There was nothing virginal or proper or Prefect-y in the teeth currently scraping over his lips or the hands twisting deep into his hair, or the knee that was—oh gods, was it really sliding up the inside of his thigh? It _was._ There was something secret and hungry here that Sirius had never known to look for. It was turning him on more than anything, so much so that he completely forgot that he was (very thoroughly) into _girls_ and didn't have a bent bone in his body.

All the while, the tiny match in his chest was flaring up huge and bright, casting light into that dark, fucked-up place inside him that never really went away. Sirius had always known, on some level, that all the pranking and showing off and overconfidence was just a desperate cover for this pit full of dread that lived inside him, but now there was a torch burning there, lighting up the walls, showing him cave formations and ancient paintings and _beautiful_ things that he had never known existed, almost as if, when he was kissing Remus, he wasn't such a miserable excuse for a human being after all.

He was just thinking that now was exactly the right time to slip a hand under Remus' shirt when some hidden and very unwelcome switch flipped in his brain. Suddenly he could hear the catcalls and laughter of the other students, who had apparently been enjoying the show. He wrenched himself away from Remus' mouth and hands and—and everything else and sprang all the way up to standing. His eyes were the last to leave, because Remus was rumpled and pink and dark-eyed and wet around the mouth and his tie was undone—how had that even _happened?_ Sirius remembered loosening it, but he didn't understand why Remus had _let_ him. Since when did Remus let anyone loosen his clothes?

He had less than a second to take this in, because people were clapping and hollering and laughing. He shook his head, trying to clear it, then whirled around to face his audience. Ah, applause, the song of his people. He bowed dramatically, surreptitiously wiping his moist chin with the back of his hand on the way down.

“Don't worry ladies, there's plenty more where that came from.” He generously gestured to Remus as well as himself, since he now knew that if Remus wasn't getting any—although he _had_ to be—that was a crime against humanity. Something had to be done about it.

He sauntered around James and sat down, adjusting his robes over his groin ostentatiously. If it had to be done (and it did, it really did) then it might as well be done with style. A couple of the younger girls in the circle giggled so hard they fell over, and he felt very satisfied with himself.

Remus sat up and ran his hand through his hair, but he didn't look nearly as flustered as Sirius would have expected. Sirius narrowed his eyes. That boy had a lot of explaining to do. Starting with, _what the fuck was that_ , because Sirius was no clearer on that point than he had been before the second spin of the bottle, and the light inside his chest was showing no signs of fizzling out.

To Sirius' delight, Remus spun Lily. She lowered her gaze in challenge, ignoring the strangled noises of protest from James.

“Do your worst,” she said, but Remus just laughed and kissed her on the cheek. That was wise, Sirius supposed. Remus did have a strong predilection for staying alive.

Davey Gudgeon, however, was not so cautious, and Lily snogged him with more showy tongue than Sirius could have wished for in his wildest dreams. He laughed himself blue in the face while working with Remus to hold down a wildly thrashing James, and Sirius congratulated himself on the best self-given birthday present ever.

+++

After the party had wound down, Remus stepped in and saved Gudgeon's life by pointing out to James that there were worse things than Lily getting all hot and bothered, considering _James_ was the one about to take her up to the dorms for some real fun. James brightened considerably at this, especially when Lily was the one to pull him upstairs. Remus followed them, pointedly monologuing tips about how to cast proper privacy charms. Sirius eventually made his way up as well, after leaving out a few bribes for the house elves to keep them from telling McGonagall about the mess (they wouldn't accept money, of course, but he had found a lot of success with hastily scrawled knock-knock jokes). He lay in bed for almost an hour before giving up and creeping over to Remus' closed bed curtains.

“Hey, Moony, you awake?” he whispered.

There was a long pause before Remus answered in the affirmative, and when Sirius pulled open the curtains, Remus had a suspicious, flushed look about him. That, along with certain other very interesting olfactory clues made Sirius suspect Remus had not only been awake, but wanking under the cover of his own privacy charm. Also, the book Remus was supposedly reading was upside down.

Normally, Sirius would have made a point of teasing him about this, as ribbing Remus was one of his many responsibilities as a Marauder, but inflicting embarrassment was contrary to his current goal. So he pretended not to notice and flopped down on the bed, purposely taking up more space than necessary. “So, fun party, huh?”

“Sure, Padfoot. Happy birthday.”

“Thanks.” Sirius grinned and blew his over-long bangs out of his eyes. Remus glanced at his book, seemed to notice it was upside down, and nonchalantly slid it down onto the bed between them.

“What's going on?” Remus asked. “Can't sleep?”

“Yeah. I was just thinking, you know.”

Remus raised his eyebrows. “I hope you didn't strain yourself.”

“Aww, Moony, you're so sweet to me. Speaking of which...some kiss.”

“Which one? There was a lot of kissing going on.”

Sirius poked his side. “ _You_ know which one. But maybe you don't know...I've never kissed a bloke before.”

Remus rolled his eyes. “Actually, I do know that. If you had, you would have told me about it in sordid detail, like you and James tell me about all of your liaisons.”

Sirius grinned. “We've got to educate you and Peter somehow. Anyways, so I was thinking.” He sat up a bit so they were eye to eye—or, more relevantly, mouth to mouth. “Wanna do it again?”

Remus' expression—always difficult to read—didn't change, and Sirius wondered if he had imagined the brief flicker of… _something_ in his eyes. “What, one kiss and now you're a total poofter?”

Sirius shrugged. He leaned back a bit, stretching casually. “Doesn't have to be a poofter thing. It's just a snog. It doesn't mean anything, really. And we're friends, right?”

“I would think that's an argument against, rather than for, continued snogging.”

“Well, if you don't want to, no big deal.” He paused as a sudden slash of life-sucking fear told him it would _absolutely_ be a big deal if Remus said no. Shit. “I just thought it might be interesting.”

Remus sighed and sat up, edging away as far as he could on the small bed. Sirius' insides twisted with dread. “If you think it's interesting, then you probably should try it. But not with me. I don't want to be the test subject in your shirtlifting experiments, thanks.”

“Oh come on, Moony,” he protested. “You can't pretend you aren't even the least bit curious about guys after—after _that!_ ”

Remus laughed, but in a way that wasn't very nice, not to Sirius or to himself. “I _was_ curious, about four years ago. I've had plenty of time to gather data about who I am and am not attracted to. There are no questions remaining in my mind which could be answered by snogging you, trust me.” Suddenly he folded in on himself, curling up with his arms around his legs. “Look, just...go away, all right?”

There was a long moment of silence while Sirius struggled to interpret Remus' downcast eyes and the way his hands clutched the legs of his pajama bottoms, white-knuckled. Slowly, pieces were fitting into place.

“Holy fuck, Remus, are you _gay?_ ” Remus didn't say anything, but he turned his face down into his knees. The answer was very clear. Sirius groaned. “Oh, this is so fucked up.”

“Thanks so much.” Remus sounded calm, but his impassive mask was crumbling as he made to leave the bed.

“That's not what I meant!” Sirius scrambled forward and pulled him back down. Remus landed in his lap, and Sirius wrapped his arms around him tightly. “Don't go away! You're fine. I mean me—I am drastically fucking this up, okay?” Remus stopped struggling, and Sirius took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of Butterbeer and Remus' shampoo. “Look, I never would have said all of that stupid shit about just kissing and it not being a poof thing if I’d known. I would much rather actually date you. Like, going out together, holding hands, cuddling or whatever...” He swallowed nervously. “Fucking too—if, if you're into that. The whole deal. In secret, if you want. Or, you know...not in secret.”

Remus sighed. He drooped for a moment, then said, very quietly. “No, Sirius.”

“But...why not?” Remus looked away and shifted his shoulders in a way Sirius guessed meant he wasn’t going to answer. Sirius felt a sudden rush of anger. Remus had liked guys for _years_ , and he hadn't said anything. They were the Marauders. They were supposed to tell each other things. They were supposed to be a team. “Remus,” he growled. “You can't expect me to believe you're not interested after practically chewing my lips off in front of a crowd of people!”

Suddenly, Remus lashed out, flinging Sirius' arms off of him and shoving hard enough to push himself out of Sirius' lap. Sirius nearly shoved back, but he managed to stop himself. Wrestling with James was one thing. That was fun, healthy, and a great way to solve minor interpersonal dilemmas. But it had never been like that with Remus, for reasons Sirius was only now beginning to understand.

“Being _interested_ is not the problem,” Remus hissed, and from the way his face was twisted up in a rare display of intense emotion, it was clear that he would have preferred to yell, except he didn't want to disturb the others sleeping in the room. Trust Remus to think about that.

“Then what is!” Sirius said, with far less regard for his own volume.

“I don't trust you!” Remus shouted.

And just like that, the little match burning in Sirius' chest went dark, blown out by his own stupid, selfish self, and once it was gone, there was nothing left but the foul vacuum of self-hatred.

It had been nearly a year since Sirius had told Snape how to get past the Whomping Willow. Since he had sneeringly used Remus' worst nightmares just to pull a vindictive prank. Since he had almost gotten Remus killed. Since he had lost the right to count any of them as his friends.

Somehow, one by one, they had forgiven him. It should have been proof of how much they truly cared about him, but the dark pit inside him whispered that it was all a lie. He was just too good at fooling them into thinking it had been anything other than a show of his true colors—Black, like the Black hole in his chest, that would keep sucking at everything they were willing to give until there was nothing left and he had destroyed them all.

“Right,” he whispered. “That's—reasonable. I'll just...” He swallowed, trying to force down the toxic sludge threatening to strangle him. He had to say something else, or this would be it, and their friendship would be over forever. Again. “I'm sorry. Just, pretend I never brought it up? I promise I won't be weird about it.” He closed his eyes, not liking the impassive mask that had returned to Remus' face once the anger had drained away. “Please. I don't want things to be weird.”

Remus was quiet for a long time, and Sirius died inside over and over again while he waited for him to respond.

“All right, Pads. I'm sorry too. I do—” His breath huffed out suddenly. “I do want us to be friends still.”

The rush of relief Sirius felt was far too thin and fragile to truly silence the monstrous shame eating away at his heart like acidic tar, but he nodded. “All right. Thanks.”

He eased himself off Remus' bed, although every muscle in his body wanted nothing more than to cramp up and leave him frozen until insects started to crawl through his decomposing flesh. If Remus said he would act normal about this, then he would. Remus always did what he said he would. Unlike Sirius. He was not so trustworthy.

He was also not so resilient. He knew from experience that this creeping, poisonous feeling inside him wouldn't go away unless he did something about it. He couldn't leave himself alone with it. It would make him stupid. It would make him mean.

He paused right before shutting the curtains. “Remus?”

“Yeah?”

“Was all that—what level secret would you say that was? Just...I was thinking maybe I would talk to James.”

Remus sighed. “Level One, Padfoot. Sorry.”

“That's all right,” he said, although it really wasn't. Level One meant it would be just between the two of them. The only Level One secret he had anymore was with James, about how he had cried like a baby for hours after his parents had disowned him. Most secrets, like Remus' lycanthropy and the Animagus transformations, were Level Two and shared between the four of them. Level One left him alone with this, and if there was one thing Sirius was terrible at, it was being alone.

+++

The roof of Gryffindor tower was steeply slanted and risky to climb to, even after he had melted the ice with his wand and set up a warming bubble, but if it had been a safe, cozy refuge, then he wouldn't have had a habit of going up there.

“Hi, Padfoot.” Remus stuck his head over the edge of the roof.

“Oh. Hi, Moony.” Sirius sighed and threw the crumbling remains of his joint over the edge. Remus hated the smell of pot and how it would cling to him for hours after he smoked, but he had run out of other ideas. At least it had calmed him down. “What's up.”

“You are, at four-thirty in the morning.” Remus clambered up onto the roof and joined Sirius on the small ledge they had transfigured level enough to sit on in third year. Their shoulders were touching, but it wasn't weird. It was just nice, just like usual.

“Sorry. Tried to be quiet, but you know how this roof is.”

“I do. I heard you and thought I'd come up. If you want someone to talk to, you can talk to me.”

“Oh.” Sirius sighed. Remus was so nice. Too nice. “Yeah, sure.” They sat there for a while, watching the snowflakes drift down and melt on the edge of the invisible bubble Sirius had cast. “I guess I'm wondering how come you never said anything. Did you think we'd freak out or something?”

Remus scrunched up his nose. “That did occur to me, yes. But mostly I just didn't want the whole school to know. I didn't trust James not to make jokes about it until it got obvious. You know how he is with the deer jokes. The only reason people haven't figured out he's an Animagus is that's it's such complicated magic that it wouldn't occur to them. And you're not much better with the dog jokes, but at least that's less weird than deer.”

Sirius snorted. “Yeah, yesterday I heard a couple Slytherins whispering that he's got a freaky deer fetish. Sneaks out into the forest to frolic with them or fuck them or something. I turned their hands into fish, of course.”

Remus rubbed his fingers over his forehead. “Of course you did.”

“Still, even James would never say if you didn't want him to. We don't make wolf jokes.” He pulled out another rolling paper just to have something to fiddle with. “I wouldn't have either. And I won't. Even though I think it's dumb and you should just tell the others.”

“Thanks, Padfoot.”

“I'm not going to let you down again.” He folded the paper up over and over into progressively tinier triangles. “Not ever.”

He wouldn't either. The Black pit was still there. It would always be there, sucking at anything good that might come near, but he wouldn't let it have Remus. He wouldn't let it have any of them, not even Peter. Not even Lily. He would kill himself first.

“Thanks, Pads.”

“'Course.” He unfolded the paper and began tearing it along the fold lines. “So...how did you know? Cause I like girls, really, I do. But I also liked...that.”

“It's not mutually exclusive, you know.”

“Really? Huh. But you're not into girls, are you?”

“No.”

“So how did you know?”

“That _is_ how I knew.” Remus frowned and pushed his glasses up his nose. “Look, it's not that complicated. When did you start feeling attracted to girls? Really, I mean, not just talking about it to show off to James.”

Upon hearing that last part, Sirius internally added a good six months to his initial answer. Damn, Remus knew him so well. “I was thirteen, I think. Nearly fourteen.”

“And when did you first start feeling attracted to guys?”

“Uh. Four hours ago?”

Remus sighed oddly and poked at the bubble above them, which was starting to form icicles. “Then it was probably just a fluke. You're straight, so you can stop freaking out.”

“Huh.” Sirius was a bit doubtful about that, but it was the easy answer. It was the one that would make everything go back to the way it had been. Maybe it was the one Remus needed to hear.

“All right, have we headed off your gay panic for the time being?” Remus shivered. “Because your charm is starting to wear off.”

“I guess so.” He sighed and dusted the tiny paper triangles off his lap to join the snow on the lower part of the roof.

“Great. Let's go inside.”

As they climbed back through the window, Remus glanced behind him at the sky. It was cloudy, but Sirius knew what he was looking at. “Three days until the full moon.”

“Yeah. Monday.” Remus shivered again, but probably not from cold this time, and shut the window.

“I've got detention with Flitwick, 'cause of the whole fish-hands thing. But I'll be there.” Sirius paused. The high was ebbing a bit, and he could hear the voice of the pit again. “Unless...you don't want me to be there.”

“Don't be stupid.” Remus climbed into bed and added, very quietly, just before he shut the curtain, “I'll always want you.”

Sirius sighed at the closed curtain and wandered off to the kitchens to wheedle some food out of the house elves. On the surface of his brain, he was pondering the difference between a midnight snack and an obscenely early breakfast, but somewhere underneath he was picking up the tiny pieces of the extinguished match and blowing on them, oh-so-gently, until they became a palmful of embers, dim and struggling, but still warm.

+++

“Oh, finally, would you hurry up!” James called as Sirius stumbled blearily into the dining hall way too early the next morning. “Remus wants to tell us something, but he won't until you get your lazy arse over here.”

Sirius sat down with a thump on the end of the bench next to Lily, trying to figure out why James' words made him nervous and where the serving platter for the bacon was.

“Thank you all for gathering here so early this morning,” Remus began, with great formality.

“It's lunchtime,” Lily said. “The end of lunch.”

Sirius pulled a face. That explained the lack of bacon. “Spoken like a woman who didn't have nearly enough special-recipe Butterbeer last night.”

“Yes!” She spoke right into his ear with purposeful loudness. “It's lovely to wake up without a hangover. You should try it sometime!”

Sirius glowered at her and edged away on the bench. Shoving girls should be allowed, it really should.

“Here.” James pushed his glass of pumpkin juice across the table. “Spiked it with Pepper-Up.”

“My hero!” Sirius grabbed the glass and gulped from it greedily.

Remus cleared his throat. “As I was saying...” He waited until Sirius had finished guzzling James' juice and all eyes were on him. “I'm gay. And I'm fucking Kingsley.”

He ducked just in time to dodge the spray of juice that came shooting out of Sirius' mouth. Peter was not so lucky, but he never was.

“You're— _what_? Kingsley?” Sirius burbled, horrified.

“You're _gay_? Since when?” James said.

“Honestly, James, if you haven't figured that out by now, especially after last night, then you really aren't paying attention,” Lily said, fastidiously wiping a few drops of pumpkin juice off the sleeve of her robes.

“Kingsley? Kingsley Shacklebolt? _That_ Kingsley?” Sirius spluttered.

“Yes, that Kingsley,” Sirius said

“Kingsley Shacklebolt with the face like a manticore having a bad day?”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“Vicious!” Sirius squeaked.

“Oh, wait a second, he was _there_ last night!” James said, catching on. “He was right there while you snogged Remus into the carpet. Oh, you're fucked. You're a goner.”

“He's going to kill you,” Peter whispered, clearly impressed.

“Fucked. Dead, murdered, gone. I'm killed. I'm going to die.” Sirius slithered bonelessly down under the table. Unfortunately, this hiding place was inadequate. The Pepper-Up smoke trailing from his ears was giving him away. He needed to find a better spot immediately—perhaps the center of the earth. He snaked his arm up and snatched a spoon from the table. It was time to start digging.

“He's not vicious or a manticore! He's my boyfriend!” Remus said, ducking his head under the table to glare at him. “And I’m pretty sure he doesn’t care.”

“He's going to murderkill me until I'm all the way flat and dead,” Sirius moaned. “Is he here?” He peeked his head up just enough to look down the long table, using an upraised napkin as cover.

“Nah, he's not here yet. You have a few more minutes to enjoy being alive,” James said, patting his head reassuringly. Sirius ducked back under the table, determined to make those minutes last as long as possible.

“Do you think he'll be satisfied with killing just Sirius?” Peter asked. “Or will he come after the rest of us?”

“So much for loyalty!” Sirius said, jabbing Peter's knee with the spoon.

“Honestly! Is this because he's black?” Remus scowled down at Sirius. “That's racist, you know!”

“That has nothing to do with it! Besides, doesn't knowing Prongs disprove that theory?”

“Don’t use James as your token brown friend!” Remus chided.

“I'm not tokenizing!” Sirius protested. “James, do you feel tokenized?”

“By you, the whitest arse to ever sit on a Hogwarts bench? Regularly.”

Somewhere above, someone laughed and knocked their silverware against a plate. Sirius jumped, hitting his head on the table. “Back to the problem at hand, at throat, my throat! He's over six feet tall! His arms are thicker around than—than—” He looked around for inspiration. “Lily's thighs!”

“Black! You piss-sodden toadstool!” Lily shouted.

“He's not even our age! He started school late because he was too violent to—ow!—be let out of the house!” Sirius shrieked, skillfully dodging at least half of the kicks now coming from James and Lily's side of the table.

“That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard!” Remus said. “Kingsley is perfectly nice—”

“No, Padfoot’s right,” James said, once Sirius had immobilized his legs with a curse. “Dude's mean. Have you _seen_ him as a Beater? Oh, wait...I guess you probably have.” James broke into snickers, and Peter joined him.

“...and here come the jokes.” Remus' face disappeared as he sat up with a long-suffering sigh.

“So, Remus, is he that big all over? And I'm not talkin' 'bout his feet!”

“Amazing. It's been less than five minutes, and I already regret telling you. I regret so much.”

“Oh shit, here he comes,” James said.

“Oh no. Oh no ohno—it's too soon!” Sirius moaned. “I have many more minutes of life-enjoying to do!”

“Best be running then,” James said cheerfully.

“This is so stupid,” Remus muttered.

“Oh, Shacklebolt!” Lily called. “Yes, come over here! Come sit with us!”

Sirius gasped at this betrayal. She was obviously still upset about the thighs comment. That girl could hold a grudge for _ages._ Maybe she was bluffing.

“Morning Evans, Potter, Pettigrew. Hello Remus. Why is your part of the table smoking?”

She wasn't bluffing. Fuck.

“Fuck!” Sirius whispered.

“Good morning, Kingsley,” Remus said. He aimed a kick at Sirius, as if telling him to behave. Sirius ignored this. He had already Not Behaved last night without knowing it, so it was too late. This wasn't about Behaving anymore. It was about Surviving.

“I just want you to know, I'm very sorry for what's about to happen,” Remus continued.

“What's about to happen?” Shacklebolt asked. Sirius watched his lower half move from the end of the table and sit down on the bench he himself had vacated earlier. That was his cue.

 _“Fumos Foetidus!”_ Sirius shouted, pointing his wand at the main entrance to the dining hall. A huge cloud of smoke exploded into existence in the doorway with an indecent fapping sound—a special addition he and James had designed—and then he was up and headed in the opposite direction.

“MARAUDERS! HANDS IN THE AIR!” McGonagall was already on her feet and yelling, but she had obligingly turned towards the explosion, so she didn't see Sirius running the other way as fast as he could while bent double behind the house tables. Out of the corner of his eye, Sirius saw the others throw their hands up. James' hands went up with such force that his silverware went flying across the room.

“This is unjust prosecution!” James shouted. “I have done nothing illicit this morning or any other morning—”

“Innocent!” Peter squeaked.

“—I have always been a model student except when my potential has been corrupted by unfair stereotypes—”

“I don't know what innocent even means anymore,” Remus groaned.

“—based solely on a few pranks, I mean, _harmless jokes_ from the distant past—”

“I'm not with them. I just eat here,” Lily said conversationally, although her hands were up too.

“—and this ongoing prejudice distracts me from valuable learning!” James finished at last.

“WHERE IS BLACK?” McGonagall bellowed, with the borderline sanity of a woman that had been successfully driven to the brink on a semiweekly basis for seven years. Her head whipped around towards the Slytherin table when several of the students there started swelling up into large, radish-shaped masses. “BLACK!”

Damn, he'd blown his cover. He just hadn't been able to resist. The Slytherins had all been turned away from him, and their backs had been so beautifully unsuspecting and irresistible—

McGonagall shouted a stunning spell. Sirius leapt into the air to dodge it, using Bertram Aubrey's shoulder for leverage, and continued right towards her and the only remaining exit. He picked up speed on the stairs up to the dais, pulling two charmed glass globes out of his robes as he went. He threw them into the air and flung himself down, sliding right under the staff table where Flitwick's tiny legs left some room. He emerged on the other side with his wand already raised to detonate the bombs at the apex of their flight. They exploded into glorious clouds of glitter and streamers, filling the air with the sound of an angelic choir. It had been Peter's idea to add that sound effect to the devices, which they had dubbed Drama Bombs. The man _did_ have his brilliant moments.

The Gryffindors were all cheering now, and most of the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws had joined in.

_“Black, Black, Black!”_

Sirius grinned wildly as he sprinted the last few meters to the staff exit. He was nearly in the clear when he caught a whiff of meat pie and saw the flaw in his escape plan. He skidded to a stop with his hands and feet against the doorframe and spun around, dodging another spell to grab the untouched pot pie from McGonagall's plate and an apple from Dumbledore's.

“Sorry, Professor! Places to be, deaths to avoid!” he gasped as he eluded her flailing arms. Apparently, she was so livid she had given up on curses and was now trying to catch him like a wayward bird.

“FIFTY POINTS—” she was saying, but he was already sailing through the door, made invincible by the rabid cheering coming from behind him, and he was in the staff corridors, home free.

+++

Sirius finished licking the gravy off his fingers just in time as people started to file out of the dining hall. He peeked out from the nook underneath the main staircase, evaluated the situation in a split second, and ducked back under before anyone saw him. A wall of teachers strode right past without a second glance. Sometimes the best hiding places were in plain sight.

He closed his eyes, counting silently, then darted his hand out at exactly the right moment and reeled Remus in by the wrist. To his credit, Remus didn't shout, not even when the momentum made him thump into the corner of the nook.

“Oof, Padfoot, there you are!” He rubbed the back of his head, wincing. “I can't believe you were worried about Kingsley. It's McGonagall that's going to murder you.”

“The strength of McGonagall's passion for me is not news,” Sirius hissed. “But you fucking Shacklebolt is! Why didn't you tell me that last night?”

“I had to clear it with him first, obviously!”

“Obviously.” Sirius rolled his eyes.

“Don't be like that. I did it for you, you know.”

“Huh?”

“I told everyone, so it's Level Two now. You can talk to James if you want.”

“Oh, so are you saying you—you came out for _me?_ ” He began the question sarcastically, but then his brain actually heard what Remus said and trailed off into sincerity.

“Technically, we both did.” Remus straightened his glasses and robes self-consciously.

“That's actually...very sweet.”

Remus finished fussing with his robes and met his eyes. He was only a hands’ breadth away. A long moment passed where they just looked at each other.

“Fancy a snog?” Sirius asked.

Remus looked up at the underside of the staircase and groaned. Unfortunately, it wasn't a take-me-now kind of groan. It was more of a why-do-I-put-up-with-you kind of groan.

“Speaking of which, how exactly does all that work, cause you _said_ you're—and I quote—‘fucking Kingsley,’ so does that mean you're _literally_ —”

“Oh no. Sirius. We are so not going there.”

“'Cause I know how people _say_ it works, but I was just checking, because, you know, he _is_ awfully gigantic, and you—”

“Stop talking!” Remus slapped a hand over Sirius’ mouth. “As I _already_ explained to James after your dramatic, glittery, unnecessary exit, I will not be answering any questions on topping, bottoming, prostates, or fellatio. You will have to satisfy your curiosity in a way that doesn't involve terminally embarrassing me.”

Sirius was quiet for a moment, as processing Remus saying words like ‘bottoming’ and ‘fellatio’ was not a task that could be done without conscious effort. “Hmph. That's hardly fair. We told you all about tits and the clitoris.”

“Information which I never asked for and, incidentally, will never use.”

“Ugh, fine. Then I'll ask you another type of question. Does he know about your furry little problem?”

“Of course not!” Remus shook his head vigorously, dislodging a streamer from his hair.

“That's what I thought. How long have you been going out?”

“A couple months. Does it matter?”

“Yes!” Sirius wailed quietly. He turned to the side to knock his forehead against the stone wall. The Pepper-Up potion was starting to wear off. “I don't get it! Why would you put up with a beast like him when I'm _totally willing,_ and you wouldn't have to keep secrets from me at all? I know I fucked up big time last year, but I swear it won't happen again—”

“You think this is about last year?” Remus laughed. “I've nearly forgotten about that.”

“You—you have?” Sirius raised his head off the wall, incredulous with hope.

“Yes.” Remus smiled briefly but then rolled his eyes. “It's just that you would make a terrible boyfriend.”

Sirius whirled back to face him, deeply offended. “No, I wouldn't!”

“Sirius, you are the worst serial monogamist I have ever known. I don't think you have ever been in a relationship that lasted more than two weeks. You dump a girl as soon as a prettier one walks by.”

“That was a long time ago!”

“It was last Wednesday!” Remus threw his hands in the air.

Sirius sulked back into the opposite corner. It sure felt like a long time ago. Besides, he would never throw _Remus_ over like that.

“You treat your partners like they're disposable,” Remus continued. “Kingsley on the other hand, is perfectly sweet, no matter what hallucinations you and James entertain, and he's actually _loyal_ to his—”

Something inside Sirius snapped. Fury spiraled up inside him, dark and unforgiving. He sprang across the nook and pinned Remus to the curving underside of the staircase, hands gripping his shoulders far too tight.

“You are _not_ disposable,” he growled. Then, without even meaning to, he covered Remus' stunned mouth with his own.

Remus shoved him away hard enough that his skull cracked against the wall opposite. Sirius saw stars and not the good kind. He felt something sharp—a nail or a sliver of stone—poke into his scalp.

“What is _wrong_ with you?” Remus shouted, but Sirius was way ahead of him. He was already folding in on himself with shame. There were so many things wrong with him. He shouldn't have done that, especially not right after Remus had just been telling him no a dozen different ways. But the pit inside him was so _hungry_. He didn't know how to stop it from pushing and pushing until it shoved him down and started to go after Remus instead.

“I-I'm sorry,” he whispered, but it came out inaudible.

“Is everything all right under here?”

Sirius shrank even lower at the sound of Shacklebolt's voice, although at this point he would almost welcome death. Remus shook himself off, glaring.

“Yes. Sirius is just being a daft, instinct-driven niffler.” Remus ran his hands through his hair, shaking out a cloud of glitter. “ _This_ is all because he thinks you're going to murder him for making out with me last night.”

Shacklebolt raised his eyebrows. “Is that something I should be doing?”

Remus didn't answer. Sirius looked between them and offered, hesitantly, “Um. No?”

“I haven't decided yet. You _are_ being really annoying.” Remus sighed and pulled Sirius out of his corner with a hand on his wrist. He was looking at the smear of blood that had rubbed off from the back of Sirius' head. “Are you bleeding? Don't. I hate that smell.” He still sounded irritated, but his hands as he pulled Sirius' head down to look were gentle. “You knocked against one of those metal things. _Episkey._ ”

“I'm sorry,” Sirius repeated. Remus was already being nice again. He was too quick to forgive. Sirius felt sick.

“I know you are.” Remus' hands left his head, and he stepped back next to Shacklebolt. “I'm going to go ahead and assume you're done interrogating me, because I said I'd meet Peter in the library about that Muggle Studies essay of his. I'll see you later, all right?”

Once he left, it was just Sirius and Shacklebolt, staring at each other. Shacklebolt didn't have glitter in his hair. He didn't _have_ hair. He looked down at Sirius from his far superior height and far superior position in life and narrowed his eyes into a pointed glare.

This time there was no glitter, no spell-dodging gymnastics, and no applause. Sirius just ran.

+++

“You should take them all.” Flitwick's squeaky voice easily penetrated the tapestry Sirius was hiding behind in the staff lounge. He froze in place where he was sitting with the last bite of Dumbledore's apple still in his mouth, unchewed. This alcove was one of his favorite in-plain-sight hiding spots, and it wasn't like it was hard to guess the password on the door. It had been a rotating combination of expletives and the names of the Marauders for five years now. Plus, it meant he often got the chance to eavesdrop, which helped him evaluate the bell curve of McGonagall's anger.

“Evans' charm work is without match, and Potter isn't far behind her,” Flitwick was saying. “I'm willing to bet that modification to the smokescreen charm was his invention.”

“And you know he would do it,” McGonagall said. “He's a devil to manage in a school like this, but that boy has a heart of gold. He won't turn his back on suffering, no matter how dangerous it is. He's a true Gryffindor.”

Sirius rolled the chunk of apple around in his mouth, grinning at the tone of pride in her voice. If Prongs could hear that...! But his ears perked up even more at the word ‘dangerous.’

“Pettigrew will go wherever Potter goes, as usual. He's a mediocre student, but Merlin knows we can use every willing person, with the way this war is going.” McGonagall's voice sounded weary, resigned.

Sirius swallowed the piece of apple abruptly. It was too big and seemed to stick in his throat on the way down. He had heard about the war, of course. The Daily Prophet was always running articles about the latest Death Eater atrocity. He tried not to look at them. He was terrified he would see a face or name he knew.

Regulus hadn't come back to school this year. Apparently, he had bigger and better things to do...things like killing Muggle schoolchildren.

“Yes,” a third voice said. It was Dumbledore. “And of course we must have Lupin.”

“He won't say no,” Flitwick piped.

“No, I don't imagine he will,” McGonagall said. “My point is, Albus, those four—five if you include Evans, which I gather they do now—are too close. You won't be able to be so choosy. Besides, Black is exactly what we need. He detonated those godawful glitter things without even looking, _while_ dodging my spells and stealing my lunch.”

“And I don't even recognize what he did to those poor Slytherins,” Flitwick said. “I think it may be his own creation. Poppy is still trying to work it out.”

Sirius tried to smirk with satisfaction, but only half his face obeyed. It was gratifying to know he was admired even in the secret conversations of the professors, but he was starting to understand the deeper significance of this conversation, which was making him very uneasy. They were talking about recruiting the Marauders for their supposedly secret Order of the Phoenix. From what Sirius had heard, it was a group of civilian wizards and Squibs who went all vigilante on the Death Eaters whenever they got the chance. It sounded cool, but only if you didn't know what the other side was like. Sirius did. He had grown up in that cesspool, and he wasn't afraid to admit that it terrified him. He didn't want anything to do with it.

They were probably right about Prongs. James would step up to any plate that had ‘honor’ written on it without hesitation, and of course Peter would follow, because he was too stupid to run away if James told him not to. And Remus...Remus would go even though he was smart enough to be afraid, because he believed he owed Dumbledore. Sirius' fists clenched, and the piece of apple still lodged in his esophagus poked painfully. Remus _would_ go. He would let himself be indebted for the rest of his life, just because Dumbledore had decided to treat him like a person instead of a monster, as if he hadn't already been a person with a right to go to school in the first place.

“I'm afraid that is rather my point,” Dumbledore said. “Black is not like the rest of them. There is a darkness in him that we should be wary of. And we must consider his family ties. His loyalty may be uncertain in moments of crisis.”

Sirius growled inaudibly, deep in his throat. His breath oozed out between his teeth, and he imagined, with his eyes closed, that it had form as curling black smoke, rage made visible. So that's how it was then. It didn't matter that he had run out on his family, that he had turned down an entire fucking fortune, that he had dedicated countless nights and most of his still-developing magic to keeping Remus alive when _Dumbledore_ had decided locking him up in a rotting shack every full moon was adequate protection. It didn't matter to them that he had treated every Muggle-born and mixed-blood student in the school with respect, or even that he had gotten sorted into Gryffindor in the first place. On some level, he was still just another Black to them. Untrustworthy. Don't turn your back on a Black, that's what people said, right?

He wouldn't join their insane crusade even if they begged him. He _had_ seen the articles. It was pointless to resist. The other side already had the upper hand, and that wasn't going to change. Sirius knew very well what people like his mother did when they had the upper hand. They squeezed. That's why he had run away from home. He was sick of trying to fight something that couldn't be stopped. It would take a bigger miracle than the Marauders to turn the tide at this point.

But the others _would_ join if asked. They would join, even though there was no victory waiting with the Order, only trauma and torture and death, because none of them understood trauma and torture and death like Sirius did—none of them except Remus. And Remus would never say no.

Sirius curled over on himself, pressing his fists against his temples, trying to drown out that certainty with a simple application of pressure. Halfway down his chest, the apple was still trying to pierce through him. He focused in on that pain until it became something much harder and sharper, until it became something he could use.

Slowly, he uncurled his fists. His fingernails had cut into his palms, raising four little crescent-moons of blood on each side. Moons for Moony. For Moony and Prongs and Wormtail and Lily too.

The professors were still talking, but he had long ago stopped listening. He picked up the apple core from his lap with blood-smeared hands, stood up, and flung the tapestry aside with one broad sweep of his arm.

All three of them froze, staring, as he walked forward with deliberate, echoing steps. He tossed the apple core into the air and vanished it with his wand. _Without_ looking, because style really did matter, even now—maybe especially now.

He slowed down even more, practically sauntering, daring McGonagall with his eyes to say the words 'detention' or 'house points' after she had just been talking about him and his friends like they were options to pick between at a buffet to feed their hopeless war machine, like she didn't want to take away his ‘godawful glitter bombs’ and replace them with _actual fucking bombs._

She didn't say anything. None of them did. They just looked at him like he had appeared out of thin air instead of from behind a tapestry. Sirius wondered how he had ever found them intimidating at all. They weren't even taller than him anymore.

“You're not wrong about me,” he said at last, once he was directly opposite them and staring McGonagall down. “So take it. Take that darkness you're so afraid of,” he paused to look at Dumbledore, “and _use_ it. Just point me in the right direction. Point me at the monsters that turned my little brother into a fucking fascist or at the bastards that made Remus into something that even _you_ don't feel guilty about using, and I promise you…I will take them down so thoroughly you'll never find the pieces. No matter how close our family ties might be.”

So much for becoming a Healer and finding the cure to lycanthropy. He would be too busy trying to keep Remus and the others from getting killed by things they were too pure to understand, but maybe it was better this way. He was probably too fucked up to be a Healer anyways. Maybe if he gave the Black hole inside him an outlet, it would stop trying to do him in.

“What are you waiting for!” he bellowed suddenly when they all just kept staring at him. Flitwick flinched. Sirius didn't care. He yanked up the sleeve of his robes. “Go ahead, brand a phoenix onto my arm! I came of age last night, so whatever it is you do, do it! Because I'm not letting you take them without me!”

Dumbledore stepped forward, eyes unreadable behind the reflections in his half-moon glasses. He reached out and touched Sirius' bare arm with cool, dry fingers.

“We don't brand people, Sirius. But, if you will, you may kneel.”

And that was how, less than twenty-four hours after turning seventeen, Sirius Black became the first of the Marauders to be inducted into the Order of the Phoenix.


	2. Hearth

_When I'm with you, all my brothers, oh_  
 _I feel like a king_  
 _It feels like I'm dreaming_  
 _When that blood goes rattling through my veins_  
 _My ears start to ring_  
 _I notice what matters_  
 _And I got nothing to lose but darkness and shadows_  
 _Got nothing to lose but bitterness and patterns_  
-Got Nuffin, by Spoon

 

After Hogwarts, they all went to the Auror Academy. None of them had trouble getting in, not even Peter—not even _Remus_ —because the Order wanted it that way. James was the only one who would have gone if he hadn't been ordered to. Peter had wanted to study ancient runes, as it was the only thing he was better than average at, and Lily had thought of going into magical law. Remus had never made plans that Sirius had heard. Maybe he had always known his future wasn't his own.

They shared a tiny two bedroom flat. None of them had time to work, and that was all James' monthly stipend from his parents and Sirius' dwindling inheritance from Uncle Alphard would afford. James and Lily took one room, and Sirius and Remus took the other. Peter had the fold-out in the living room, at least in theory. In practice, he wasn't around much. He had finally gotten a girlfriend, and, unsurprisingly, he preferred to sleep there when he could.

None of them were around much. The Academy kept them busy all week, and the Order sent them on missions most weekends. It was easy stuff at first, just spying and supply runs, but Sirius knew it was only a matter of time until they were shoved into the true brutality of war.

It wasn't all bad. Auror Academy was interesting, even if it hadn't been his first choice. They were in all the same classes, so it was a bit like Hogwarts, only without the pranks and dining hall and Quidditch...and everything else that had made Hogwarts fun.

He could be Padfoot more now, which was good because he needed the simple joys of a dog's mind more often. Remus seemed to understand and took him on walks whenever they were both home. Sirius slept on the couch as Padfoot sometimes when Remus brought men home and needed the bedroom to himself. Remus and Shacklebolt had drifted apart after school, and there didn't seem to be anyone else important taking his place, just a string of attractive men, which made Sirius smirk remembering Remus' judgmental comments about serial monogamy.

He didn't mind sleeping on the couch occasionally, although he was guilty of transforming back into a human and listening one summer night when Remus forgot to put up a privacy charm. He couldn't _believe_ some of the things he heard, although he had long since learned firsthand the ins and outs of gay sex. He had come with one hand sealed tight over his mouth without having hardly touching himself.

The only thing that really bothered him about it was that Remus seemed determined to never let himself think of Sirius that way. Sirius hadn't stopped wanting him, especially not once he really understood what it was he wanted. Especially not when Remus was already getting sent away from them on full moons and coming back bandaged and silent and weary. Especially not when the Marauders’ days as a unified group might already be over. Still, Sirius promised himself he wouldn't do anything about it, not after fucking it up so badly last time. But he never was very good at keeping his promises, not even the ones he made to himself.

+++

“Are you really not tired yet?” Remus sighed as Padfoot pulled him towards the off-leash area of the park. “Newfoundlands are supposed to be low-energy dogs, you know.”

Padfoot barked and turned in circles, tangling them both up in the leash. Remus grumbled and unclipped the leash from his collar, muttering about wizards with excessive energy dragging innocent people around when said people would much rather spend their Saturday afternoon napping. Padfoot ignored him and went shooting off towards the other dogs as soon as he was free.

He burned as much energy as he could before joining Remus where he had settled down on the grassy hill overlooking the park. He had fallen asleep. Padfoot snuffled at him, concerned. The full moon had been two days ago, and Remus was obviously still exhausted. Rather than waking him up, Padfoot lay down next to him, trying to share warmth. It was a misty fall day, and Remus smelled cold. Remus slept for over an hour like that, and Padfoot stayed with him, baring his teeth whenever other dogs or people strayed too close.

“Thanks, Pads,” Remus said when he finally sat up. He continued talking in short, thoughtful spurts as they walked the few blocks back to the flat. Padfoot kept his head down and listened. Sometimes Remus told Padfoot things he wouldn't say to Sirius. Remus said this was because human Sirius wouldn't shut up long enough to listen, but Sirius preferred to attribute it to Padfoot’s charming attitude.

“I think I needed that. Not just a kip, but this…” Remus gave the leash a little shake. Padfoot lifted his head and walked with light, trotting feet, happy to be of service.

“I wish I could do that. It must be lovely to turn into a dog and shrug off all these awful human thoughts. The wolf isn't like that. I wouldn't mind it so much if I could be a regular wolf, instead of a monster.”

Padfoot huffed indignantly and nudged Remus’ hand, unable to let that word pass his lips without reproach.

“I know. It's true, though.”

They walked on a bit as darkness began to fall, then Remus continued. “It's nice to keep doing simple things, even something as pointless as walking an egocentric Animagus. It's...straightforward, you know?” He climbed the short flight of steps to their flat, leaning on the rickety metal railing more than Sirius liked to see.

“I guess I've had to do a lot of pretending lately.” Remus paused in front of the door to the flat, staring at the keyhole as if he had forgotten unlocking doors was something he could do. Padfoot watched him with his brow furrowed under the thick layer of fur. Remus never talked about his missions for the Order, but it wasn't hard to figure out what they had him doing on full moons and the days before and after. He was trying to ingratiate himself with the pack of werewolves loyal to Voldemort, including Fenrir Greyback, the werewolf that had bitten him when he was just a kid. It was horrendously cruel of Dumbledore to put Remus in that position, yet Sirius was sure he had never protested or complained at all.

After a few seconds, Remus seemed to snap out of his daze all on his own. He unlocked the door with a surreptitious tap of his wand.

“Anyways. I'm just trying to say I'm grateful. For you and for James and Lily too. So thanks.” He swung the door open and stepped aside for Padfoot to precede him inside.

Sirius looked up at him through Padfoot's adoring eyes. Remus was leaning back with the light from inside washing over one half of his face. The other side was in shadow, but when it came to Remus, Sirius only ever saw the light. Remus was the dark creature with so much brightness in him that he could rally all the way from confessing his daily life was a misery to counting his blessings in just a few seconds. Remus was a fucking _miracle_ , and suddenly Sirius was so overwhelmed that he just couldn't take it anymore. He stood on his hind legs, put his paws on Remus’ shoulders, and transformed back into his human body. Remus startled back, but the wall was right behind him, and he didn't go far.

“Remus.” Sirius took a deep breath. “Just—hear me out for a second?”

Remus' eyes were wide with shock and confusion, but he didn't push away. He could have. Sirius made sure of that. He had to, after last time, even though what he really wanted to do was cover Remus and all his likely protests with his own insistent body, kiss him senseless, fuck him into the wall—

Fortunately, they weren't quite close enough for Remus to feel the physical results of _that_ thought racing through his body. That was a good rule of thumb, Sirius decided. If he couldn't keep an erection's worth of distance between them, then he was really in trouble. He had to not fuck this up. He had been nurturing the warm idea of _Remus_ in his heart for months now. He had been trying to make himself worthy, trying to prove he could be trusted. Deep in the dark recesses of himself, he had been carefully piling up stones into the shape of a hearth, hoping against all expectation that someday Remus' spark would make its home there. And if that hearth was shaped more like an altar than a fireplace, so fucking what? There were worse things than worshipping Remus Lupin. Sirius wasn't good enough, and he would probably prove that eventually, but he didn't care anymore.

He didn't know how to articulate any of this, so he said simply, “I want you.”

Remus' mouth opened, but Sirius kept talking, not ready to hear protests yet, if he ever would be. “I'm not fooling around or experimenting. I've done lots of experiments. I know what I want, and it's you.” He leaned down to match Remus’ height and curled his hands around the back of his neck for emphasis. The ends of Remus' hair brushed against his fingers, sending jolts of electricity through him. “I don't even want some big change in our relationship. I want to be friends, live with you, hang out with you, take care of you when you'll let me...you know, all the stuff we already do, only also with sex. Preferably a lot. Preferably soon.” He laughed suddenly. “I don't even want to _date_ you. We know each other too well for all that dinner and movie bullshit. I'd rather skip right to fucking and try to enjoy life before we get blown up or torn apart.”

He paused then, hoping Remus would say something or—even better—lean forward and jam their lips together, but Remus just stared with his mouth open like Sirius had suggested they make Snape an honorary Marauder.

“Um. I guess that kind of came out of nowhere,” Sirius rallied desperately, “so you can, like, think about it for a couple days if you want.” He closed his eyes against the sucking emptiness in his chest. “Sooner would be better. Or, ideally, now.”

“I—”

Sirius' eyes flew open as Remus started to reply, only to be interrupted by the loud crack of someone Apparating into the alley next to the building. He reluctantly stepped back from Remus just as James came trotting up the steps.

“Bloody _hell_ , James, what are you about?” Sirius snapped, with more antagonism than was probably fair, but there was no need to be fair with James. That was what made James brilliant.

“What am I about?” James pushed his glasses up his broad nose with a clumsy finger, narrowly missing poking himself in the eye. “ _I_ am just coming home. _You're_ the ones standing around with the door open like a couple of wanking dugbogs.”

“Dugbogs don't wank, you plonker.” He gave James a shove.

“Shows what you know.” James shoved back, and then they were both wrestling on the floor in the entryway, with Sirius doing his best to get on top and sit on James' head.

“Actually, I think Sirius is right.” Remus was a voice of thoughtful reason from above. He stepped over them and into the living room. “Dugbogs reproduce botanically.”

“If wanking was for reproduction, it wouldn’t—oof!—be wanking!” James insisted. He could be very stubborn, even in his current position of physical disadvantage.

“Anyways, Remus, like I was saying.” Sirius adjusted his knee so as to crush James' chest more thoroughly. “Just think about it?”

If this had been one of Sirius' (many) fantasies, Remus would have said he didn't _need_ to think about it and jumped him, and Sirius would have had to banish James to Greenland so they could have sex on every surface in the flat, vertical as well as horizontal, and perhaps—if the proper spells and equipment could be requisitioned—the ceiling. This was clearly not a fantasy, however, because all Remus did was nod, face utterly expressionless.

“What's he s’posed to think about?” James could apparently hear them even with one ear firmly covered by Sirius' posterior and the other being smashed into the floor.

“I'm trying to figure out the best way to convince Lily to bugger me,” Sirius told him without skipping a beat and then laughed as James surged up and engulfed him in a chokehold. Remus was right. Sometimes you needed the simple things to keep you grounded.

+++

“So.” Remus plunked two mugs of tea onto the coffee table the way another man would put down bottles of beer. “You've been experimenting. Tell me about that.”

“Sure.” Sirius unfurled from his morose lump on the couch. Remus had been avoiding him for nearly a whole day, deploying transparent excuses like wanting to study or needing to sleep. Not that Sirius had been nagging him. He had been very careful to distract himself, which had manifested in a lot more wrestling with James and a lot of time spent as Padfoot. “So, have you been thinking about it then? Because that sounds like the question of a man who's made a decision.”

“There are no decisions to report as of yet.” Remus sipped his tea with an enviable attitude of relaxation. “I'm just doing a little research.”

“Of course. Well, I'm bisexual. Obviously.” Sirius eyed his mug of tea doubtfully. Remus never put enough milk. _I'm not making you flavored milk, that's disgusting,_ he would say. Sirius picked it up anyways and took a warm, steadying sip. Even mediocre tea had its purpose. “You know that club, The Chamber of Secrets?”

Remus' eyebrows went up. “I've, ah, heard of it. Never been.”

“That's mostly where I've been going. Learned a lot, met some pretty brilliant people. No one really important,” he added hastily, “but I wasn't looking for anyone important. Just trying to find out what I liked.”

“And what is it you like?”

Sirius shifted a bit on the couch, trying not to read too much into the way Remus kept glancing up at him and then quickly fixing his eyes on his tea again. Upon consideration, he turned his anxious shifting into an intentional yet casual movement that left them sitting just a bit closer together. This was no time to be nervous, not when Remus was sitting there licking tea off his upper lip, practically begging to be seduced.

“I would say I've tried a bit of everything, but anyone who has been to that club can tell you that's impossible. Human beings are incredibly creative when it comes to finding new ways to get off.” He winked, and ripples formed in the tea in Remus' mug. Had he shivered? Sirius wondered if he could distract him enough to make him spill it. Remus was fascinating. He was so reserved, so well-collected...but not _always_ , as Sirius had learned on that memorable birthday night nearly a year ago now. No one could keep themselves bottled up like that all the time. Now that he had overheard some of the things Remus got up to in bed, it was clear where that delectable, chaotic energy was going. Sirius longed to harness it, guide it, and use it to drive them both up the wall. He was pretty sure he could, too, as long as he kept his wits about him.

“I like fucking,” Sirius said bluntly, abandoning his tea on the side table. “Both ways, although topping is definitely favorite. I never thought I'd like sucking cock, but, damn, I do. That club suits me. I like the drama...I like an audience.”

Remus rolled his eyes, but there was an encouraging tinge to his cheeks. “That's not news.”

“No, I guess not.” Sirius grinned. “I don't like being tied up or anything painful myself, but if I'm the one in control...that's my sweet spot. I like to dish it out, and I know how.”

Remus didn't say anything to that, but he was chewing his lower lip. Not in an obvious way, just the inside, but Sirius could tell, and no wonder. If Remus didn't love being tied up, spanked, and fucked senseless, then Sirius was very mistaken about what those activities sounded like. He moved closer on the couch and let his arm drift down behind Remus' shoulder, making no effort to hide what he was doing. He trailed his nails through the hair at the base of Remus' skull in light, teasing circles. Remus' eyes drifted shut gratifyingly and his lips parted. Sirius' pulse raced. His awareness narrowed to the graceful hitch of Remus' breath, the smell of him...all tidy tea and well-laundered sweaters covering up hidden passions. He could just barely see the inside of his mouth, dark and wet. Oh, the things he longed to do to that mouth...

He bent his own rule of thumb regarding distance enough to lean in and whisper into Remus' ear, “What about you, Remus? Do you like to be tied up? Do you like to be fucked?”

Remus twitched as Sirius gave that last word all the time and breathy articulation it deserved. When he didn't reply, Sirius took a chance and tightened his fingers in his hair. As if summoned by the pressure of his grip, a single, divine word came drifting out between those soft lips.

“Yes.”

Sirius smiled wide against Remus' ear. This was going to be _fun._

But, of course, it was at exactly that moment—right when Sirius was about to shove Remus down into the cushions and play with his desire like he was conducting a fucking symphony—that the lock on the front door flipped, and James walked in.

Sirius whipped out his wand with lightning speed and cast a tripping charm with a confetti-snorting chaser. James dove towards the floor with beautiful precision, spewing colored paper from several orifices. Remus, predictably, used the distraction to arrange a decorous amount of distance between them on the couch and took a composed sip of his tea. To look at him, you would have no idea he had been putty in Sirius' hands mere seconds before. It made Sirius' palms itch just looking at him.

“What the fuck, Pads!” James spluttered with a deeply amusing confetti accompaniment. “You're crazy today, you know that?”

“ _Finite Incantatem_ ,” Remus said. “Yes, Padfoot has been a bit edgy lately, hasn't he?”

“Yes, yes, welcome home,” Sirius said. “Feel like going out again? Preferably for a long time?”

“You're the one what's going out, mate. You're my relief for the Foley stakeout, and I'm bloody exhausted.”

Sirius threw his head back against the couch, groaning. The Foley stakeout was the longest, dullest mission they had been in charge of yet. “I swear if that fucker doesn't show up soon I'm going to Polyjuice Peter and have him make the drop in her stead, just so we can stop watching that stupid dry cleaners.”

“Best get on that, then, because you're on duty.”

Sirius growled with resentment and heaved himself off the couch. He grabbed his warm cloak from the hook by the door and turned back to look at the two of them. James was picking bits of confetti off his tongue, and Remus had already found a book, _somehow,_ without even getting up.

“See you tonight then?” He spoke as if to the room at large, but with a significant look at Remus in particular.

“You're not off ’til eleven, you plonker. I'm going to sleep,” James said.

“I haven't made any decisions yet.” Remus turned a page in his book with infuriating serenity.

“Right.” Sirius let his head fall forward to plunk onto the cheap front door. “Bye then.”

At least the Foley stakeout was a do-nothing solo job. He could spend part of the time having a much-needed wank.

+++

It was only eight-thirty when he Apparated home, but James and Lily had already gone to bed. It would have been laughable in school, but it was understandable given their ridiculous schedules lately. Remus was in the shower, probably preparing for bed himself. Sirius considered just walking in, but he didn't think he could get away with pretending it was an accident, not after this morning. He focused on shedding his clothes instead, just in case. It wouldn't do to be fully dressed when Remus came back into the bedroom.

Remus must have heard him come in, because the water turned off, and he called out, “You're back early.”

“Yeah. They finally made the drop. Only Foley and McNair never showed up at all. They used house elves.” He sighed and scooped change and other debris out of his trouser pockets onto the dresser. “No identifying marks I saw, and they were slippery bastards. Didn't catch a single one. Total waste of time.”

It had been frustrating, but secretly, Sirius was relieved. There were a few Death Eaters, like Maeve Foley, that the Order considered so dangerous that Dumbledore didn’t want them to be turned over to the Ministry for questioning if it could be avoided. They were to be disposed of instead. Sirius was fairly sure he was the only one who had been given that particular set of instructions. He had offered himself up to the Order as a tool of destruction, and that was how they intended to use him. That was how he wanted it. Better him than Remus or James. Or anyone, really. Unlike them, there wasn't much in Sirius that was healthy enough to poison with the sins of war. His only real concern was that he would be too much of a coward to actually do it when the time came. What would he do, if he ever truly had Foley or Bellatrix or Regulus at his mercy, kneeling in front of him at wandpoint? Regulus wasn't on the list, but he might be someday.

He was so deep in these dark thoughts that he pulled on his pajama bottoms, forgetting about his plan to be conveniently nude when Remus emerged from the shower. He was staring, unseeing, at the singlets in the next drawer up when he felt fingers on his hip, right above the waist of his pajamas. The hand slid crosswise over his back to his opposite shoulder, and he slid back into the present along with it. The momentum left his head spinning. He sighed, shoulders unkinking. Remus' hands slipped around to his stomach.

“So, I take it you've made a decision after all?” Sirius asked, trying his best to sound confident and collected instead of breathless and needy. “Or is this just more research?”

Remus pressed his chest against Sirius' back. The top of the towel he had wrapped around his waist pressed against the bottom of Sirius' spine. Sirius shivered and gripped the edge of the open drawer in front of him, not to keep himself upright, but to keep from whirling around and crushing Remus to him before he had a chance to answer. Remus' lips brushed his neck, just gently, the light of a torch penetrating moldy darkness. Sirius ached for it. He dug his fingernails into the wood.

“Both,” Remus said. Sirius felt his teeth when he smiled. “I want what you want, I think, or close enough. What we have, only also with sex. Preferably a lot. Preferably soon.” His hands slipped downwards, nudging at the waist of Sirius' pajamas. “But you know me…I’m always interested in doing more research.”

His mouth was hot and breathy against Sirius' ear by the end, and he probably would have punctuated that last bit with a scrape of teeth or touch of tongue—that’s certainly what Sirius would have done—but Sirius didn't give him a chance. He gave a joyful two-fingered salute to his rule of thumb and spun around so quickly that he might have created his own gravity, because Remus fell against him, _into_ him, with a satisfying impact. Once he was there, Sirius enveloped him in a kiss and locked him in place with both hands firmly against the back of his neck. Little flakes of wood from the dresser fell out from under his nails and got lost in Remus’ hair.

It was too much and not as gentle as Remus deserved, but he would never be what Remus deserved, so fuck that anyways. Besides, for reasons that Sirius didn't understand, this seemed to be what Remus wanted. Sirius could feel the unlikely miracle of Remus’ consent in the softness of his lips, in the malleability of his spine, in the hardness already pressing against Sirius’ hip.

“I didn't know,” Remus gasped, once Sirius had laid adequate claim—at least for now—to his mouth and had moved on to his neck. “I thought it was just—a fluke.”

“Not a fluke,” Sirius said. “I didn’t stop wanting you. Just didn't want to push you.”

Remus pressed their hips a little closer together. “You can push me all you want, now.”

“Yeah?” Sirius wrapped his hands securely around Remus’ shoulders and then turned with purposeful suddenness, shoving him against the wall with enough force to make the impact reverberate through Remus’ chest, although he was careful to do it in such a way that he wouldn’t crack his head on the drywall. It would be terribly awkward to knock him unconscious.

“Like that?” he asked, low, against Remus’ lips. He thought he already knew the answer, but he wanted to hear Remus’ needy assent. He got his wish.

“Just like that.” Remus reeled but dug his fingers into Sirius’ arms invitingly. Sirius lowered his head and bit into the muscle at the side of Remus’ neck as hard as he dared, which was not nearly as hard as he wanted to.

Remus gasped and tilted his head, which Sirius took as permission to do more. He took a smaller chunk of flesh between his teeth, knowing it would hurt more that way. Remus writhed, and Sirius relished the pressure of it on the inside of his arms. He _thrived_ on the feel of him struggling. He wanted to shove Remus down to the floor, make him kneel, fuck his mouth too fast, too deep. He wanted to gag him, blindfold him, tie him to the bed, fuck him as Padfoot, make him scream, force him to come. He wanted him begging, bruised, even bleeding. He wanted to take all of Remus' polished composure and rub it in the dirt. Metaphorically and—come to think of it—literally too.

Six months ago, these desires would have horrified him—and sometimes they still did—but, astonishingly, it was apparently acceptable to do at least some of those things, as long as the other person was informed and willing. But he would have to play by the rules. He was determined to be careful. Unleashing the true depths of his depravity would be the fastest way to fuck this up, and he was _not_ going to do that.

He released Remus’ skin with a slow scrape of teeth and worked with the wall to hold him up when it seemed like Remus’ knees were inadequate to the task.

“What do you want then?” he asked, because that decision should probably not be left up to him.

Slowly, Remus’ eyes blinked open. He licked his lips in a steadying kind of way, then leaned off the wall far enough to kiss him. Sirius let him for a bit until the sweet slickness of it threatened to send him under again. He grabbed Remus by the hair and pulled them apart.

“Remus…” he growled. He needed to be given at least a general plan. He couldn’t be left to his own devices. He didn’t trust himself. 

“I want what was advertised.” Remus tried to kiss him again, but Sirius avoided him, forcing him to elaborate. “Tie me up. Fuck me.”

That might not have been enough detail to pass for informed consent at The Chamber of Secrets, but it was good enough for Sirius. This was Remus, after all, not a stranger. They would work it out. Sirius grinned, happy to be back on solid ground. “In that case, you’re wearing entirely too much clothing.”

He reached down to the towel Remus had tucked around his waist in that clever way of his—a skill Sirius had never bothered to master himself, as random acts of nudity were a gift to the world that shouldn’t be prevented with silly tricks. Remus, on the other hand, believed in things like dignity and privacy, so he valued a towel that stayed put. That made it all the more satisfying to tear it off and toss it on the ground now. Carefully, of course, because there was some important stuff under there.

He gave himself a few long moments to run his hands down Remus’ ticklish sides, over his hips, and around to the soft flesh of his arse. Remus moaned and jerked, rubbing his cock against Sirius’ pajama-clad hip. Sirius allowed this, but only until Remus started to push the clothing away. He couldn’t have that. He would need all of his composure if he was going to do this properly, and every little scrap of fabric helped. So he grabbed Remus by the wrists, spun them again, and shoved him onto the bed with nearly all his strength. Remus bounced a little, and the frame of Sirius’ bed groaned, but neither of them truly seemed to mind.

He climbed onto the bed on his knees, swaggering a little and letting loose his best predatory smile. Remus crawled away backwards, but the look in his eyes—lust with just a hint of challenge—made it clear he wasn’t trying to get away, he was just making room on the bed. Sirius smiled wider, happy to claim the space. They were only just getting started, and already he felt larger than life.

He leaned down to nip at Remus’ stomach, maintaining eye contact all the while, until a bite in a particularly sensitive spot made Remus arch his head backwards. Sirius moved up his chest, scraping his teeth on Remus’ nipples, looking for more boundaries to push. He chuckled when he looked up and saw that Remus had raised his arms to grip the slats of the cheap wooden headboard.

“You want some help with that?” He ran his fingernails up the underside of Remus’ arms and circled his wrists.

Remus bit his lip and nodded, but he didn't answer aloud. Perhaps he was the kind of person that had trouble talking during sex. Maybe something could be done about that. For now, Sirius just kissed him, making sure it was shorter and more teasing than Remus clearly wanted, and stood up to retrieve his wand from the dresser. He was pleased to see that Remus kept his hands in place even without being told.

Sirius strolled back over and trailed the tip of his wand over Remus’ wrists, adding a little flick that sent ropes spinning out to follow the path and loop around the bed frame. He cocked his head at the result and made a few muttered adjustments. “All right? They’ll come undone if you say, ‘Butterbeer.’”

Remus nodded, and Sirius stood over him for a minute more, twirling his wand in one hand. He briefly considered binding Remus’ legs as well, but he already looked so vulnerable and perfect, with his arms stretched above his head narrowing the lines of his body and his cock curving up against his stomach. Nothing else was needed, at least not right now. The only thing wrong with the picture in front of him was that Remus was starting to calm down a bit. He was also awfully quiet.

Sirius tossed his wand away with a show of carelessness, although he made sure to keep track of where it landed on the foot of the bed. He would need it later. He climbed onto the bed and knelt, straddling Remus’ hips, hovering just far enough away to avoid touching.

“Well,” he drawled, “looks like you're at my mercy now. What should I do with this new power, I wonder?” He ran the tips of his fingers down Remus’ chest and stomach, smirking when Remus wiggled under the ticklish touch. “Maybe I'll go make a sandwich. You hungry?”

Remus bit his lip and pushed with his feet, grinding upwards. Sirius obliged him a little, enjoying the sight of Remus’ cock sliding against the fabric of his pajamas. “Does that mean yes, then? I think we’ve got some ham and cheese.”

He started to swing off the bed, but Remus resourcefully hooked an ankle around his leg.

“Don’t you dare!” he said, speaking up at last.

Sirius laughed. He pushed Remus’ leg back down into the mattress but stopped pretending to leave. “All right. But,” he added, leaning low over Remus’ face and narrowing his eyes to show he meant business, “you’d better not clam up again, or I _will_ go make a sandwich, and eat it in front of you too. I want to hear you. Got it?”

Remus nodded, eyes wide. Sirius raised his eyebrows, and Remus hastened to add, “Got it.”

“Good.” Sirius smiled a little more nicely this time and rewarded him by sliding his own knees apart and bringing them into full contact. Remus kissed him fiercely, as if to drive all thoughts of leaving out of Sirius’ head. It was hardly necessary. Sirius was having a hard time keeping any thoughts in his head whatsoever, thanks to the intoxicating thrust of Remus’ hips against his. He pushed his hands under Remus’ upper back, wrapping his fingers around the wings of his shoulder blades, sliding downward, letting their combined weight put pressure into the gesture, feeling the knobs of Remus’ spine going _bump, bump, bump_ under his fingers. A little lower and his hands were full of the satisfying roundness of Remus arse, which passed through various fascinating forms as Remus shifted and flexed. Remus had planted his feet in the mattress for leverage, to excellent effect.

Sirius groaned into Remus’ mouth, seized with a sudden desire. He tried, briefly, to fight it back down. It wasn’t on the agenda, and he really shouldn't push his luck. But, of course, once it occurred to him that he _shouldn’t—_ oh, what a delicious word!—he absolutely _had to._

He tore himself away from Remus lips, which was no easier to do now than it had been eleven months ago, and said, “I want to spank you.”

Remus looked surprised, one might even say shocked. Obviously, Sirius should have been more specific this morning about the things he had tried, liked, and learned to excel at. He watched with squirming insides while Remus pulled his lips into his mouth the way he did when he was trying to stop himself from saying something. Then Remus nodded, and the relief of seeing his agreement was all the sweeter for the brief moment of panic that had preceded it.

“All right,” Remus said, obviously remembering the importance of speaking aloud to prevent further threats of sandwich-making.

Sirius grinned wide with an acute flavor of excitement. Remus smiled back, eyes warm, utterly devoid of fear. That expression—and his pliant warmth in Sirius’ hands—was so fantastic and perfect that Sirius briefly lost his grip on his cool, collected, badass-top attitude. “You're better than Christmas, you know that?”

Remus laughed and hitched his hips in a way that managed to say both _fuck me_ and _get off of me_ at the same time _._ Sirius moved to the side and reached up to adjust the ropes so Remus could turn over. He watched Remus roll, watched every part of him as it was revealed, slowly, like the turning of the earth. He let his eyes soak in Remus’ bony shoulders, the finger-wide widths of his ribs, the sweet little hills and indentations of his spine, the curve of his arse, the guiding lines of his scars, and the subtle shading of hair on the back of his legs, lighter than Sirius’ own. Once Remus was on his stomach he hesitated only a moment before sliding his knees up under himself. With his bound hands pulling his head down low, his entire body was pristinely aligned and just _begging_ to have all sorts of absolutely filthy things done to it. Sirius sighed a little with happiness.

“Oh, we are going to do this _all the time_ ,” he announced.

“Says the man who has yet do much of ’this’ at all,” Remus said.

That was out of line and probably meant to be, so Sirius did what already seemed perfectly natural and brought his hand down on Remus’ arse. He hadn’t intended to start yet and was a bit out of range, but the results were perfect anyways. His hand landed with a sharp sound that made Remus jump and go “eep!” in a very satisfying way.

“You’d better be good,” Sirius warned, moving into position next to Remus’ hip so he could do this properly. He looked at the red mark left by his hand, heart surging with lust. “One of us should be, after all, and we both know it won’t be me.”

“No, I suppose n—” Remus started to say, but Sirius had had enough talking and cut him off with another slap. The rest of Remus’ breath left him in an audible rush that went straight to Sirius’ cock.

Now that he had made his point, he took it easy, starting off slowly and letting the force of the repeated blows build gradually. The pulsing energy in his arm didn’t like to be held back, but he knew it was necessary if he wanted to be able to do this for more than a couple minutes. Remus twitched and gasped with each contact. Sirius watched, mesmerized by the alternating ripples of reaction and invitation in the muscles of Remus’ shoulders, which were pulled into sharp definition by his tied hands. He paused after only a dozen or so slaps, still far below the maximum level of impact that most people could take, and trailed his hand across the reddened flesh. Remus moaned and pushed back against him.

“Oh, you like that, do you?” Sirius said. He wasn’t really in doubt, but he phrased it as a question anyways. He was curious if Remus would remember that he was supposed to respond aloud. He shook his hand surreptitiously, trying to ignore the way the sting was building up in his own palm. There was a reason people had invented paddles and floggers, but it was too late to negotiate for their use now. Next time, he promised himself, and all the times after that too.

Remus said, “Yes, but—”

“But?” Sirius froze. Two dark tendrils of fear spiraled up to wrap around his heart while he waited for Remus to catch his breath and continue.

Remus turned his face down into the mattress, ears red. “D-don’t stop yet.”

Sirius burst out laughing, banishing the fear back into the pit where it belonged. “Don’t worry, I’m nowhere near done with you.”

As he started up again, he realized that Remus must not be as experienced at this as he had assumed, if he wasn't familiar with the concept of taking a break to switch up the sensation. He smirked, thinking back to the scene he had overheard before. He varied his blows to make them more unpredictable and leaned down low over Remus’ back.

“I heard you, you know, a few weeks ago. With that guy, what was his name? Donald?” He hadn't planned to tell Remus about his eavesdropping, but suddenly he liked the idea, liked the power dynamic it might create.

“What?” Remus panted into the sheets, struggling to talk in the brief spaces between impacts. “Are you t-talking about Conall?”

“Oh yeah, Conall. Stupid name.” He paused for a moment and ran his fingernails over the heated skin of Remus’ arse, just to watch him try to melt into the sheets. “Anyways, you forgot a privacy charm, and I heard you with him, just like… _this_.” He brought his hand down sharply, evoking the same raw cry of pleasure and surprise he had heard then.

“Y-you did?” Remus’ voice was muffled from the sheets.

“Yep.” Sirius slid his hand around the side of Remus’ hip, letting his fingers get almost within range of Remus’ cock, which was already dripping onto the sheets below. He leaned in more, speaking directly into Remus’ ear. “I had one off on the couch listening to you. Getting spanked. Getting fucked.”Remus whimpered and tried to thrust into his hand. Sirius didn’t let him have it. It was far too soon. He sat back up instead, taking in the difference in sensation between leaning in, hot and close, and looming over, tall and powerful.

“Only he was obviously a fucking amateur. Slap, slap, slap, like he was a bloody metronome.” Sirius imitated the boring rhythm with his hand as he spoke, shaking his head.

“He hadn’t— _ah!—_ done it before,” Remus protested. “But I wanted, I wanted to try…”

Sirius stopped in mid-swing. “Wait, are you saying _you_ had never done it before either?” Remus nodded, and Sirius inhaled slowly, reliving the memory in his mind with this new context, that it had been Remus’ _first time_ getting spanked. That’s what he had overheard.

“What about since?” he asked. It hadn’t been that long ago, less than two full moons. Remus simply shook his head, and Sirius was far too excited to notice he wasn’t answering aloud. “So this is only the second time you’ve done this. You have no idea then, do you, how awesome it’s going to be. Not after that farce of a dom _Donald._ ” 

“Insulting past partners is bad form, you know,” Remus mumbled, although he sounded more amused than offended.

“It’s not an insult if it’s true.” Sirius started up again, swinging his hand in rapid succession, harder than before. “I’m much better at this, and you know it.”

“I refuse—to flatter—” Remus trailed off, keening into the sheets as Sirius upped the ante, finally starting to put all his force into each blow.

He continued on like that, only stopping occasionally for the sake of contrast. Remus writhed and shook and made more fantastic sounds than Sirius could have believed possible, clearly enjoying every minute of it. Remus didn’t say much after that—hardly anyone did once the heady drug of the endorphins really started to kick in—but the few words he did manage ( _yes_ , _more_ , _ohfuck_ ) only served to drive Sirius to hit him harder. Sirius had to admit he was impressed, especially since Remus was apparently not used to this, but he should have known Remus would have a high pain tolerance. Clearly, that Conall idiot hadn’t given Remus anything close to the level of intensity he wanted.

Eventually, Remus’ knees failed him and he started to slide down flat onto the bed, but Sirius just propped him up with his own knee under Remus’ hip and kept going. He didn’t ease up until his hand got so numb that he couldn’t feel what he was doing anymore, then he cast a lubrication charm and slid two fingers inside. Remus groaned, grinding backwards eagerly. Sirius smiled and slapped him as hard as he could with his other hand. He kept on like that, rubbing Remus’ prostate and hitting him intermittently until he was nearly sobbing into the sheets.

At one point, he opened his mouth to tell Remus how dirty he looked like this, as he had told the other people he’d done this with, but suddenly he realized it wasn’t true. Remus was panting and tied and splayed, distant and wanton from an excess of endorphins, shiny with sweat, flushed all the way down his back, but he was still, somehow, perfect. Perfectly pure. Perfectly himself.

There was no trace of the self-loathing that Sirius had seen in other partners, people who obviously got off on pain only because they believed they deserved it—not that Sirius had ever judged them for that. He had been happy, in fact, to cater to it, because _that_ he understood. He had expected the same from Remus, especially considering that Remus loathed a significant and inescapable part of himself. He should have been eager to self-punish, but this wasn’t like that at all. Remus accepted both the pain and the pleasure with simple enjoyment, with grace and gratitude. Sirius had never seen anything like it.

 _This_ was what he had been chasing since that game of spin the bottle—not an outlet for his lust (well, not only that anyways), but a place where even the most twisted impulses he had to offer were accepted with appreciation, like they were fucking _gifts_ instead of toxic spillover from the terrifying mess inside him. Sirius wondered, a bit shakily, if it was even possible to fuck this up—either this moment specifically or this whole new thing they were beginning—or if everything would be like this from now on: beautiful and somehow okay, even though he had nothing good to offer whatsoever. 

He had paused too long this time. Remus turned his head against the sheets and their eyes met. Sirius raised his hand again before Remus could ask what was wrong and brought it down with every bit of his strength, cracking so loud he felt the pop in his ears. He stared as Remus fluttered and struggled to maintain eye contact, filled his head with the divine cry that spilled past Remus’ bitten lip—and even after that, Remus didn't try to pull away. He just leaned into it then unfolded back onto the bed a bit, watching Sirius the whole time.

Talk about a heady drug.

Sirius pulled both hands away, peeled off his pajama bottoms, and draped himself over Remus’ back, trembling from the effort it took not to grind his cock against Remus’ thigh. Remus twitched and whimpered at the contact against his sore skin.

“I’m going to fuck you now,” Sirius whispered against his ear. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“ _Yes_.” As Remus spoke, Sirius transferred his weight to one elbow so he could push his fingers back inside Remus’ arse, just to hear the change in tone as he continued to beg. “Oh, fuck, Sirius, _please_.”

Remus turned his head, trying to twist far enough around to kiss him, but his arm was in the way. Sirius hitched him up the bed so his elbow could bend, making enough room to lean in and lick his lips. Remus’ breath rushed over him as he tried to return the kiss, fast and arhythmic, but he was clumsy with desperation and the angle. Sirius spent a few minutes enjoying him like that, drinking in the intensity of his need, feeling each brush of skin against his cock as Remus writhed on his fingers. Then he sat up, bracing himself with one hand between Remus’ shoulder blades. Remus didn’t need to be held down—he was being far too good for that—but Sirius liked the implication of the gesture. This was where he belonged, on top in every way imaginable.

He pulled his fingers out to line himself up, so hungry for the pressure that was about to wrap around him, so ready for all of the wishing and wanting and holding back to be over—

Then Remus said, “Wait.”

He almost didn’t. He almost pushed forward anyways, on the assumption that whatever Remus wanted, it couldn’t possibly be as important as the throbbing _need_ circling deep in his gut. But this was Remus, and if Remus wasn’t important, then there was really nothing in Sirius’ life that was. Remus and James had always been the only ones that could even come close to redeeming him. If he fucked this up, he might lose them both.

That couldn’t happen. He needed them.

So he stopped. It took every ounce of willpower he had, and it was a very near thing, but he did it. Unfortunately, that meant he didn’t have much self-control left when it came to responding properly. His hand curled into a fist between Remus’ shoulder blades, and his voice was sharp as he bit out, “What?”

“N-nothing, just…” Remus trailed off, and for the first time, there was a note of uncertainty in his voice.

Hearing that, all of Sirius’ frustration rushed out of him immediately, replaced by guilt. “Sorry, sorry,” he gasped, pulling back further and opening his hand. He ran his fingers soothingly down Remus’ spine, exhaling in relief when he saw Remus relax. “What is it?”

“Can I turn over?” Remus asked.

“Why?” Sirius leaned to the side to evaluate Remus’ position on the bed. “Is it too hard on your knees?”

“No, I just—” Remus turned his cheek to the sheets and licked his lips. “I want to see you.”

“Oh!” Sirius grinned wide behind Remus’ back, letting this flattery buoy him back up to his proper place. “Well, in _that_ case, by all means.” He snatched up his wand and loosened the ropes long enough for Remus to turn over so they were face to face once more. “Enjoy the view.”

He tossed his head and preened a bit, using humor to try to cover up his momentary loss of control. He needn’t have worried. Remus must have been even higher than Sirius had thought because instead of rolling his eyes or commenting on Sirius’ overlarge ego, he actually _giggled_. He was flushed and forgiving and adorable, and suddenly Sirius was so grateful for him that it burned at the corners of his eyes. He dove down and kissed him, finding the ability to be gentle for the first time that evening. Remus sighed into the kiss and wrapped his legs around Sirius’ hips. Sirius undulated slowly against him, letting their cocks rub against each other. It felt so fantastic that he actually considered simply reaching down and bringing them both off, but then he had a better idea.

He shifted Remus up on the bed a little so that his elbows were bent, because it occurred to him that Remus was probably way too euphoric to notice, let alone say anything, if his joints were getting jerked around too much. Then he kissed him again, briefly, just because it was very hard not to, before saying, “You want something to see? Watch _this_.”

He tucked his hair behind his ears and licked his way down Remus’ chest, trying to show himself to advantage as much as possible on his way to Remus’ cock. Sure, they had been about to fuck, but Remus was tied up, so Sirius could basically do whatever he wanted, and he wanted this. He kept his eyes on Remus’ face as he made his way down, watching for that moment when Remus understood what was about to happen. There were few things Sirius loved about sex more than that moment, that look of surprise and intense anticipation right when the other guy realized they were about to get their cock sucked. For some reason, they never quite seemed to believe that he would do it, even when it was prenegotiated. It was like they just couldn't picture someone who wasn't a submissive little flower wanting to give a blowjob. That was part of what made it so fun. He loved throwing people for a loop.

With Remus, that moment of realization happened right as Sirius left his ribs behind and began to nip at the soft skin of his stomach. Remus’ eyes widened, lips still parted and full from kissing, and he rolled his hips. Sirius smiled, feeling the feral rush of control beat through him again. He scooted down between Remus’ legs and held his gaze while he reached out with his tongue to slowly lick the dripping tip of Remus’ cock. He made sure to tilt his head and put every ounce of his lewd, exhibitionist self out on display for Remus’ viewing pleasure. Remus’ air left him in a series of harsh, unstable pants and he shuddered, pulling instinctively on the ropes that held his hands.

“Told you. Don’t you dare come though,” Sirius warned. He paused to circle the head of Remus’ cock with his tongue. “I still have every intention of fucking you until you scream.”

“Yes,” Remus agreed breathlessly, already trying to angle his hips for more. “I won’t, I promise.”

“Really? Not even if I do…this?” He took Remus’ cock into his mouth and moved his tongue along the underside in a way few men could resist.

“Oh, _godsyes,_ I won’t, no matter what, I—ah!—I never do, when I don't mean to.”

Sirius pulled away and stared up at him, a bit mystified by this insistence. “Remus, you do know what that sounds like, don't you? It sounds like…a challenge.”

Remus bit his lip and stared back, pupils blown so wide there was hardly a hint of brown visible. “You can try to make me come if you want. But if you tell me to wait, I will. No matter what you do.”

Sirius’ eyes widened. He had been half-joking, but apparently he had hit the nail right on the head. It _was_ a challenge—an _awesome_ challenge! There was no way in hell he was going to back down. Sirius grinned in delight and narrowed his eyes. “Oh, you’re _on.”_

He was going to win, obviously. Remus was tied up and couldn't push him away if it got to be too much, and no one had that much self control. Sirius had been looking forward to making Remus come clenched around his cock, but this would be worth it, even if he had to rub himself off on the mattress afterwards. Taking Remus down a notch would be a thousand times more satisfying than a quick fuck.

He took his time at first, using just his lips and tongue, baiting Remus into thinking he had a chance. He had wondered if Remus’ strategy would be to check out entirely—some people could do that—but that didn’t seem to be it at all. He was thrilled to see that, on the contrary, Remus continued to watch him, moaning encouragement and apparently not worried about letting himself enjoy it to the utmost as Sirius went to town. So Sirius brought out some of the other tools at his disposal and slid three fingers into Remus’ arse, smiling against the side of Remus’ cock as he arched backwards into a whole new level of pleasure. He didn’t stand a chance.

That’s what Sirius thought, anyways, but it didn’t turn out to be true. He did everything he could. He swirled his tongue in a series of complicated patterns. He lapped forcefully at the head of Remus’ cock and jerked him off with his free hand. He tried the usually forbidden but secretly fantastic trick of using his teeth. He fucked his fingers into Remus’ prostate so hard, for so long, that it had to be painful. He took Remus’ cock farther down his throat than he had ever managed with anyone before, sucked until he nearly passed out from lack of air, and even let him thrust as much as he wanted, still to no avail. He tried every trick he knew of and invented a half-dozen more on the spot. But no matter what he did, Remus didn’t come.

Remus pulled Sirius into him with his legs greedily and writhed, thrusting his hips. His whole body seized up with pleasure and frustration. He trembled and quaked. He threw his head back and sobbed and begged and cried messily against the inside of his arm. He lost control in every possible way except the one that mattered. Finally, after what had to be more than half an hour, Sirius had to admit defeat. He hadn’t ever pushed someone so far, for so long, and Remus was so fucking hot like this, totally wild and desperate and yet, somehow, still unbreakable. Sirius had been careful to keep his own hips well away from the bed or anything else even remotely satisfying, but even so, his cock was throbbing so hard he was starting to be afraid he might come anyways, just from feeling Remus thrust into his mouth, just from hearing him sobbing.

“You win,” he rasped, pulling away at last.

“Thank the gods,” Remus said, nearly wailing in relief. “Is my prize getting fucked, because—”

He never finished his sentence, because Sirius had already surged up between his legs and shoved his cock deep into Remus’ arse in one powerful, mind-blowing thrust. Remus’ whole body arched off the bed as if he had been electrocuted, and his mouth opened wide in a cry so intense it was completely silent until his breath caught up with him and he keened raggedly against his arm.

“Yes, _fuck_ , fuck oh fuck me,” he babbled, and Sirius did. He pulled out and thrust back in as hard and fast as he could, with no warm-up at all, because Remus had had more than enough preparation to take it. Besides, this was going to be a very short trip. Sirius could already feel his orgasm coming, and he lacked the superpowers that apparently allowed Remus to put off his own indefinitely. Speaking of which…he reached down with one hand to pull on Remus’ cock, still thrusting with everything he had.

“ _Ohfuck_ , can I please, I want to come—so much, _please_ —” Remus cried, and Sirius realized incredulously that he was _still holding back_ , that crazy fucker.

“Yes, come,” he panted desperately. By this point, he was pretty sure he wanted it just as much as Remus did. He had hardly finished giving this permission when Remus’ cock spasmed in his hands. Remus seized up from head to toe and screamed, babbling incomprehensibly as his cock pulsed ribbons of white over Sirius’ hand. Meanwhile, Sirius was lost, completely lost, in the searing, rhythmic grip around his cock as the interstellar explosion of his own orgasm burned through him, whiting him out. He let it take him, welcoming the impact of the only thing that could appease the darkness enough to banish it entirely.

He managed, in the blurry haze that followed, to let his weight fall to the side of Remus instead of right on top of him. Remus was still breathing sporadically and twitching, eyelids fluttering.

“You good?” Sirius asked once he remembered how to speak. Even the sound of his voice seemed to make Remus shiver with a new wave of aftershocks.

“Good,” Remus mumbled dreamily. “’m so good.”

Sirius smiled, wiped the tears from Remus’ face, and leaned over to kiss him, even though he had hardly caught his breath himself. Post-orgasmic, blissful Remus was officially his new favorite thing. He was just about to go looking for his wand so he could undo Remus’ wrists when a loud knock next to their heads made them both jump, and James’ groggy voice came ringing through the wall.

“Hey, Remus, not that I’m not happy for you, but do you mind shutting the fuck up? Or else I swear I _will_ tell Sirius you keep shagging blokes in his bed, no matter how nicely you beg me not to! Some of us are trying to sleep!”

Remus gasped and tried to sit up, apparently having forgotten he was still tied, guilt written heavily all over his face.

“You’ve been shagging blokes in my bed?” Sirius spent a brief moment in shock, and then he burst out laughing.

“It only happened once!” Remus protested. “I didn’t mean to, he just assumed—”

“That’s why you washed my sheets! You never spilled soup at all!”

There was some muttering and banging from the other side of the wall, which Sirius ignored until the banging manifested into James, standing glasses-askew and wide-eyed in their bedroom doorway in his boxers with Lily peering over his shoulder.

“I knew it!” James crowed. “I knew it was you!”

Sirius was caught off guard, but only for a second. Improvisation was his specialty, after all. He gave James a sultry look and trailed his hand through the sticky mess on Remus’ stomach. “Hey Prongs. Come to join us?”

“Fucking— _Butterbeer!_ ” Remus spluttered. His hands came free, and he snatched up the sheet, covering himself. In the process, he shoved Sirius so hard he fell out of bed. Sirius landed painfully on the floor, but he was laughing. It was worth it. It always was.

James, of course, was so pathologically straight that he didn’t react to this lewd invitation at all. Lily was watching though, so Sirius arranged himself to his advantage on the floor, leaning against the bed.

“Fucking finally, Pads,” James was saying. “I swear, if I had to hear you whining about him one more time—”

“Sirius has been whining about Remus?” Lily asked. “Remus has been whining to me about Sirius for years!”

“Are you _kidding_ me? Bloody hell. This is officially too stupid,” James declared. “From now on, no more whining. Is everyone clear?”

Sirius whirled around to look at Remus, who had pulled the sheets nearly up to his eyes. “You’ve been whining about me?”

“Maybe,” Remus mumbled into the fabric.

“Oi, Moony, you all right under there?” James asked. “Sounded like things got pretty rough.”

Remus pulled the sheet up over his head entirely. “I’m fine!” 

“Not for lack of trying,” Sirius said, rubbing his jaw muscles ruefully. “He’s surprisingly resilient. I’m going to need to make him a long-term project.”

“We thought he was going to kill you!” Lily said.

Sirius smirked. “Prongs, it sounds like your lady there isn’t familiar with the sounds of intense pleasure. Maybe you should let an expert show her how it’s done.”

Lily gasped in outrage. “Not another word, Black, or I’ll hex off your bollocks and feed them to the pigeons living outside our window!”

Sirius winced and couldn’t help pulling his legs up protectively, just a little bit. Lily didn’t seem to have her wand on her, but Sirius wouldn’t put it past her to be capable of removing someone’s bollocks even without one. “Yikes, Lily, don’t say that. You’ll make Moony sad. He’s only just found out how lovely my bollocks are.”

Lily was already leaving, dragging James with her. “Good night, fellows!” James said over his shoulder. “Use a charm next time, or I’ll murder you!”

“Good luck pleasing her now that she’s heard how a real man does it!” Sirius called after him.

James pulled away from Lily long enough to shut Remus and Sirius’ door with a slam. Sirius grinned. “Oh, Prongs,” he sighed to himself. “Such an easy mark. Never change.”

He spent a moment basking smugly in the light of today’s many victories, then turned around to regard the Remus-shaped pile of sheets on the bed. “Oh, Moony!” he sang out.

“No,” the sheets said.

“Moony, Moony, Moony!” Sirius draped himself over the bed haphazardly, feeling the bony contours of Remus’ body poking through the sheets. “You’ve been whining about me!”

“I have never done anything so monumentally stupid.”

“Oh, yes, you have!” Sirius tried to lift the sheet off Remus’ face, but Remus was holding it down firmly. He was awfully stubborn, but no one was more stubborn than Sirius Black. Eventually, through a combination of tickling, strategic poking, and other cunning maneuvers, he managed to wiggle his way into Remus’ hiding place. The sheet draped over them both in a crisp white cocoon.

“I can’t believe we forgot a privacy charm,” Remus groaned.

“Isn’t it amazing! And you were so loud! Don’t worry,” he added, grabbing Remus’ wrists before he could hide his adorable embarrassment behind his hands. “Prongs is so straight he gets lost if he has to turn left too many times in a row. It’s good for him to see how the other half lives once in a while. Speaking of which, I can’t _wait_ to take you to The Chamber of Secrets.”

Remus scoffed. “We’d better open up this sheet. You’re obviously oxygen deprived if you think I’m going to go to a kinky club just to watch you have sex with a dozen other people.”

“I wouldn’t do that!” Sirius gasped. “Remus, I’ve been obsessed with you ever since that game of spin the bottle. I don’t _want_ to have sex with anyone else.”

Remus pulled back a bit as if to look at him properly and see if he was joking or not.

“What?” Sirius said.

“Nothing…” Remus said, avoiding his eyes a bit. “I just didn’t expect that.”

“Well, that’s because you’re oblivious.” He pulled Remus back in and kissed him until the strange tension disappeared. “I wouldn’t do that. Unless, of course, you _were_ into watching, in which case I’m sure we could arrange something.” What a lovely thought that was. Remus watching him pleasure some fine bloke—he could think of several club regulars who would do nicely—probably touching himself the whole time, or maybe tied up and trembling with impatience, cock dripping, waiting for his turn… “Huh?” he said, realizing Remus had said something else, and he had completely missed it.

“I said no way.”

“Oh. Too bad.” Sirius carefully filed the fantasy away for later use, because you never knew when someone might change their mind, and in the meantime, it was excellent wanking material. “Anyways, that’s not what I meant. We have to go so I can show you off! You’ll be a star!”

Remus rolled his eyes. “You’re the only one here who wants to be a star.”

“I _am_ a star.” Sirius grinned. “Everyone says so. They even named me after one. But, really, no one has ever been able to resist this tongue before. How did you _do_ that?”

Remus smiled. There was a bit of color high in his cheeks, but not as much as before. “It’s just something I’ve always been into. Ever since I first started wanking, I would try to hold off as long as I could. Guess I got pretty good at it.”

“I should say so! I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s got to be, like, a little-known werewolf superpower or something.”

Remus shook his head. “I used to think so too, but apparently it’s not a standard werewolf thing. It does kind of feel like it though, like right before the change, trying to hold back as long as I can…only it’s not terrifying, obviously.”

He looked uncomfortable again, and Sirius realized it had been a bit tactless to bring up the most unpleasant part of Remus’ life when they were supposed to be talking about sex. He skated his fingers over Remus’ side and tugged him closer by the hip, trying to distract him.

“Well, it’s pretty much the hottest kink I’ve ever come across, so, congrats. You’re fantastic.”

“Thanks,” Remus said, flushing even as he relaxed a bit. “It’s not that unique, really. It’s just…the longer you wait for something, the better it is when it finally happens.”

“Yeah,” Sirius agreed.

Remus smiled and moved a bit closer on the bed, twining their legs together. Sirius was quiet for a minute, watching him.

“Years, Moony?” he asked finally, keeping his voice so low that nothing outside this bright white hiding place would have been able to hear it.

Instead of answering, Remus slid his fingers into Sirius’ hair and kissed him. It was a great kiss, soft and full of things Sirius wasn't too good at naming, but it was the look in Remus’ eyes right before it that really got to him. Remus looked at him steadily, suddenly not at all embarrassed, suddenly a lot more like the man Sirius had just discovered today, the one who wasn’t afraid to meet his eyes while Sirius hit him.

He was the most beautiful thing Sirius had ever seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just hope everyone recognizes that this is not an ideal kink scene. A dom that has trouble hearing No is not a good dom.


	3. Fire

_To the end I'll never know,_  
_temperatures are rising slow._  
  
_I came so hard, in your mouth._  
_I saw the future, it was dark._  
_I know I'm not afraid,_  
_I'm consumed._  
_And another thing,_  
_I'm still bruised._  
  
_So it seems you're not my friend,_  
_anything is better then._  
  
_Nobody knows what I bring._  
-The Future by Austra

 

There was no grace in Maeve Foley’s body as it crumpled to the ground. It fell to the side all at once, scraping unpoetically against the wall of the alley on its way down. Sirius slowly lowered his wand and looked down at the awkward heap that had, until a few moments ago, been a person.

It hadn’t been very hard after all. Moody was always saying that _Avada Kedavra_ wouldn't work unless the caster truly wanted to kill. Sirius had planned to prep himself by reciting Foley’s misdeeds in his head while she waited before him, bound and furious. He thought he would have to remind himself that he was doing the right thing or risk failing the spell, but in the moment there had been no time. She had been getting away, and he had only had time to remember his orders and why he had decided to follow them. He hadn't felt a rush of anger or even an executioner’s determination to serve justice. He hadn't felt anything. He had just done it, and it had worked.

“I guess I must have meant it, then,” he said to the now soulless alley.

He divided the body and disposed of it in such a way that it wouldn't ever be found, which was much easier than Muggle crime novels made it sound, especially if you had a wand. As he carried away the pieces to the various drop off points, he was vaguely aware that he should feel disgusted, horrified, satisfied… _something_. He had just killed someone, after all. But he felt nothing, just a strange new hollowness.

Once it was done, he went to Dumbledore’s office to report.

McGonagall was in the room as well. Sirius ignored her as he recited the events of the day in chronological order, told of Foley’s end, and placed her wand—the only part he hadn't known how to dispose of himself—on Dumbledore’s desk. McGonagall made a small sound when she saw the wand, and Sirius realized from her horrified expression that, although she had been there when Dumbledore had given him these orders, she hadn't expected him to actually do it. He finished his report by describing how he had disposed of the rest of the evidence, and in the silence that followed, it occurred to him that perhaps neither of them had ever done anything similar—maybe no one in the Order of the Phoenix had. That meant they had given him orders that they would not have followed themselves. He looked at the wall above Dumbledore’s head, lip curling with disgust. And they had had the nerve to question his loyalty.

He wondered if he had made a huge mistake—not by doing the act itself, but by reporting it. Maybe they were considering turning him in for murder. Wouldn't that be rich.

Instead, Dumbledore cleared his throat and began asking questions. How did Sirius feel, what had he been thinking about when it happened, what had been his reaction directly afterwards, things like that. Sirius answered as briefly as possible. He still didn't feel much of anything, except a vague sense of relief that he hadn't chickened out. He had been sent on enough intense missions by now to recognize that he was in shock, but he didn't much care. He didn't see how it was any of Dumbledore’s business how he felt anyways.

Finally, Dumbledore said, “All right. Thank you for reporting in. There’s just one more thing. Could you sit down, please?”

Sirius sat down in the chair that Dumbledore drew into existence for him, surprised to find himself a bit grateful for the chance to rest his legs. Foley had given him quite a chase. He had barely settled in before he saw the movement of Dumbledore drawing his wand out of the corner of his eye and understood in a flash what was happening. He whipped his own wand out, fueled by the sudden burning fire of betrayal, but he wasn't fast enough. The bolt of light from the silent stunning spell hit him squarely in the chest before he could do anything to stop it.

In the darkness that followed, he couldn't see, couldn't move, and couldn't feel anything except the certainty that he was being examined more intimately than he had ever been before, more than any piercing stare or Muggle x-ray or even _Legilimens_. This was something else entirely.

He couldn't see Dumbledore or McGonagall, but he imagined them standing over his unconscious body, two dispassionate faces, two pairs of glasses, one rectangular and one half-mooned. The violation of it made him coil up inside with a familiar kind of dark, unforgiving rage, but there was nowhere for the feeling to go, not even into the small outlets of raised blood pressure, tense muscles, and flushed skin. He couldn't feel any part of his body. He was floating in the dark, utterly helpless.

Then they began talking, and for some reason, he could hear them clearly even while stunned.

“It couldn't have been like that before, surely,” McGonagall said. “That can’t be normal.”

“It did not occur to me to make a record of his state beforehand. The _almatheometer_ is a very new device. You and I may be the very first to observe this particular phenomenon. But I think you must be correct,” Dumbledore replied. “Of course, this supports my theory.”

“You think this is what _he_ is doing?”

“It would explain all the signs. We already know Tom has killed people. This effect must be slightly different, as Sirius would not have cast the proper spell. I would imagine it simply dispersed. Odd that he shouldn't have noticed it.”

“He must have! He’s just too proud to say so. No one could not notice _that._ ”

“As I said, Nicolas and I have yet to establish normal baselines…”

Their voices and the sensation of being examined faded as they moved the instrument—the _almatheometer_ , whatever that was—away. Sirius’ thoughts raced frantically to understand in the few moments he had before his consciousness faded too. They were talking about Voldemort, he was sure—Tom Riddle, people had used to call him. But they were also talking about himself, as if he, Sirius Black, had something of interest in common with the Dark Lord, something they could only see with this fancy instrument that made it feel like they were pressing their eyes against the core of his soul.

There was only one thing it could be. They were talking about the Black hole—the pit that had haunted the very center of his being for his entire life, taunting him with dark truths and polluting everything he held dear with stupid impulses, petty vendettas, tainted loyalties, and an ultimate lack of control over his own evil.

They could _see_ it. It was real.

It wasn't just some metaphor or even a psychosis, as he had often secretly hoped. Better that than the alternative. Better to be insane than to be born under a dark star, destined to fuck up every good thing he came across.

This realization terrified him far more than killing a piece of Death Eater scum ever could, and he was all alone with it as they moved the instrument out of range completely, taking his awareness with it as he slid back into the oblivion of the stunning spell.

When he came to, he was slouched awkwardly over one side of the chair, apparently just as they had left him. He blinked his eyes open and found himself looking down at the worn burgundy carpet. His wand lay on the floor where he had dropped it as he was struck unconscious. He carefully leaned over and picked it up, using the time to compose himself as he put it back into his pocket before finally looking up.

Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk, entirely unreadable, as always. McGonagall was standing with her back to him, looking out the window. Sirius almost wondered if he had imagined what had just happened, but he could still feel the residue of their gazes smeared all over his insides. It had happened, all right. They had seen the worst part of him, only they thought it was because of what he had done today. They didn’t realize…it had been there all along. This was his normal. This was the legacy of generations of evil deeds, a birthright far more insidious than a fortune could ever be. It had been bred into his very soul. He would never be able to blot it out, no matter how hard he tried.

He was examining the various magical instruments in the room, trying to figure out which one was the _almatheometer_ when finally Dumbledore spoke. “Thank you, Sirius. That is all. I will send word of the next mission when the time comes.”

“And my other orders? Do the orders involving the list you gave me still stand?” If they had truly seen his Black hole, if they had any idea the torment it caused him, if they thought murder was the cause…it wasn’t actually related, of course, but he was curious what they would do since they believed it was. They were always so high and mighty about being the good guys, the side that valued life. If that was true, if they cared about him at all, surely they would tell him to stop.

Dumbledore didn’t move a muscle. The reflections in his glasses didn’t even flicker. Even when his mouth moved, you couldn’t tell with all that hair. “The orders stand. You will report to my office immediately after each incident of this nature, even if you have to leave in the middle of a mission. This may be the most important thing you ever do, Sirius.”

Sirius just nodded. He was beginning to doubt he shared many priorities with Dumbledore, but he had no problem putting down people like Foley. She had tortured two Muggle sisters to death only last month, and she hadn’t even been the nastiest one on the list. No one could disagree that the world was better off without people like her around, and today only confirmed what he had already known, that he was exactly the right type of fucked up to be the one doing it. Poor Remus would have been throwing up into a corner right now if it had been him, and James probably wouldn’t have done it at all. His brand of honor would never have let him go through with it. Who knew about Peter. It would depend on who he was hanging out with at the time, Sirius supposed. Peter seemed to prefer to borrow character from others rather than create his own. Lily might have done it, out of grief for Foley’s victims and a desire to see the crimes stopped. Lily was one tough bird. But she would have cried herself silly afterwards, because she, unlike Sirius, was a good person. That was exactly why he had to keep going, so it wouldn’t occur to Dumbledore to pass this mission on to someone else.

He left the office without ever seeing McGonagall’s face and meandered down to the castle gates. He paused, wondering where he should go next. What did people do after they had killed someone? Probably go get drunk. But as he thought it, he knew he craved a different kind of intoxication, so he Apparated home instead.

Remus was napping on the couch, gorgeous and lazy in the light of the fire. His eyes opened at the sound of the front door closing, and he smiled when he saw who it was. “Hey. How did the mission go?”

Sirius dropped to his knees in front of the couch to kiss him, enjoying the way the fire had gilded his freckled skin with warmth. He unbuttoned his robes and threw them into a corner so Remus wouldn't have to touch them. They looked clean, but they weren't. Black hid all manner of sins.

“How about we go in the bedroom, and I _don’t_ tell you all about it?” he suggested as he brushed his lips along Remus’ jaw.

“Perfect,” Remus said, stretching. Sirius caught his hand and kissed his palm before leading him down the hall, knowing absolution was close at hand.

+++

He was more systematic about the whole thing after that. He researched each person on the list Dumbledore had made him commit to memory. He filled his head with their habits, their weaknesses, and, most of all, their atrocious crimes. One by one, he stopped them from having any opportunities to commit more. Each time he killed someone, he went to Dumbledore’s office to report, deliver the wand, and submit to being examined.

The last was the only part he regretted. He never got used to the _almatheometer._ They must have realized he could hear them when they used it, despite the stunning spell, because they never spoke to each other again while they examined him. He never asked about what they saw. He didn’t need to. He had always been able to feel it.

He never did tell Remus what they had him doing. He didn’t tell any of them, not even James. Telling them would have exposed them, and keeping this part of the war away from them was the whole point.

After the sixth time, McGonagall came after him, stopping him on the narrow spiral stairs that led down from Dumbledore’s office.

“Sirius, wait!” Her eyes were wide with fear and concern that he took no comfort in and had no sympathy for. He waited for her to catch her breath, watching her with that level, unreadable gaze that made her so nervous now. He wondered if she thought of it as the gaze of a killer—hilarious when in truth he just liked to fuck with her. Or at least he hoped that was all it was. Was there a difference between someone who had killed people and a _killer_? He wasn't so sure anymore.

“Do you—don’t you feel it?” she asked.

He watched her for a minute more, wondering what she wanted him to say. They were always asking him that question in various ways, and it was interesting that she seemed to think he would answer differently now, outside of Dumbledore’s presence.

“It’s nothing new, Minerva,” he said at last. He had made a point of calling her that ever since he had taken his oath with the Order, even those first few months when he had still been in school. She had given up her right to be addressed as his elder the moment she had forced him and his friends into this whole thing. “Do you remember what you told me that one time in fourth year when James and I trapped all Slytherin house in a single tiny supply room? You said I must have been born evil. It was interesting, you know, because my mother used to say that too.”

She flushed with anger and perhaps a hint of shame. “I said that so you would _fight_ it.”

He shrugged. “What I’m saying is, if you’re getting yourself into a tizzy worrying about my lost innocence, you’re wasting your time. I’m a Black. I wasn’t born with any.” He started to turn away, but then abruptly changed his mind. Anger was bubbling beneath his surface now, slow but inexorable, like air rising through tar. “How about instead you use your time to find a way to protect that baby? You want to talk about innocence? He can’t even _talk,_ and he’s got an army of Death Eaters trying to hunt him down and kill him!”

McGonagall avoided his eyes. “You are still planning on performing the Fidelius charm tomorrow?”

“Yes. That was Peter’s idea, by the way. Which is a pretty good sign that you aren’t doing jack shit when it’s _Peter_ coming up with the bright ideas.”

She raised her chin defiantly. “If you had paid any attention in class, you would know that most prophecies are utter nonsense, and those few that turn out to be true are self-fulfilling. Inaction is usually—”

“Who cares!” Sirius shouted, suddenly on fire with fury. His hands were clenched tight. He wanted to hit her so much, but it wouldn’t do any good. “ _Voldemort_ believes it, and he wants to self-fulfill it by _murdering my godson!_ Who cares if Harry’s a chosen one or whatever, he’s still a _baby!_ He shouldn’t have to be special to merit your protection!”

“Evans and Potter understood the risks when they decided to join the Order—”

He did hit her then, shoving her hard enough that she fell backwards onto the stairs. He stepped forward over her, negating any idea of trying to get back up. Her hand had gone to her wand, but he didn’t care. “That,” he said, low and dangerous, “is the biggest bloody crock I’ve ever heard. They had _no idea,_ and you know it. And if that is really the way you’ve been thinking about this,” he nodded upwards with his head, including Dumbledore and the whole stupid, selfish Order in the gesture, “then I’m through. I don’t take orders from you anymore.”

She scowled up at him, and he saw in her eyes the fulfillment of a prophecy she herself had written, the one that said she had always believed he would turn on them. “You took an oath—”

“I did,” he agreed as he turned and began descending the stairs. “But it wasn’t the only one.”

He was Harry’s godfather. He had bigger responsibilities than the Order. He was going to have to go into hiding himself if he wanted to be an effective Secret Keeper, and he understood now that the Order would never allow that. They were far too invested in this half-assassin, half-test-subject role they had forced him into.

It was stupid, really. They should have known better than to make him choose between James Potter and anything else on this earth.

+++

He put off telling Remus what had happened by becoming Padfoot as soon as he came home. Remus just smiled sadly, ruffled his fur, and went to get the leash.

The dog park was windy and cold, but that didn’t stop him from enjoying himself. He had just begun to feel that everything would be all right when he saw Remus’ head lift into the wind, eyes going wide with alarm. Padfoot smelled it too. It was a werewolf. There was a man on the far side of the park waving cheerily and beginning to walk towards them. He was a stranger to Padfoot, but not, apparently, to Remus. He must be one of the werewolves loyal to Voldemort, one of the ones Remus spent nearly all his full moons with now, gathering information to give to the Order.

“Oh no,” Remus whispered. He sounded as frightened and sad as Sirius had ever heard him, and Padfoot’s hackles instantly went up, despite the stranger’s apparently friendly attitude. But Remus didn’t draw his wand or run. Instead, he crouched down low, clutching Padfoot’s ruff and looking him in the eye. “You have to go downwind. He’ll be able to smell what you are. Stay downwind, no matter what. You—” He paused and swallowed, forehead creased with desperation. “Please,” he whispered, “whatever you see…please don’t hate me. I didn’t want you to find out like this. Please.” His eyes were filling with tears. He wrapped his arms around Padfoot’s neck, holding him very tightly, and buried his face in his fur. “I love you.”

Padfoot couldn’t help it. Even in this terrifying and confusing situation, he felt a wild surge of joy, and his tail started to wag. Remus had never said that before. Neither of them had, although they had been together for over four years now. Sirius felt on top of the world, indestructible, even when Remus pushed him away and told him to go. That feeling lasted all the way to the bushes downwind where he went to hide, all the way until he turned around and saw the stranger approach Remus, glance around the mostly empty park, and kiss him right on the mouth with the familiarity of a longtime lover.

+++

“I could kill Dumbledore,” Sirius growled as soon as they returned to the flat and he shed Padfoot’s form. The last of his patience and understanding was shed along with it. He unclipped the leash from the collar Remus had given him long ago and tossed the end away.

Remus turned in slow motion, hanging the leash on the hook by the door. “You’re mad at Dumbledore?”

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m plenty mad at you too. I don’t know why you do a thing he says. I don’t know why any of us ever do! None of them give a shit about us!” 

“You think…you think I did it under orders.” Remus unbuttoned his coat, still moving as slowly as if he was trapped in a jar of honey.

“Of course I—” Sirius stopped as the meaning of Remus’ words hit him like a sheet of cold water—shocking, unwanted, intolerable. Remus had frozen halfway through the last button, looking away, a very picture of guilt. A long silence filled the air between them until finally Sirius inhaled, tasted filth, and burst out, “What the _fuck?_ Remus, what the fuck!”

“I didn’t know,” Remus whispered. “I didn’t know it would be like this with you. You said you just wanted sex. I didn’t know you wanted it to mean something. If I had known…I don’t know. I would have said something. By the time we started, it felt too late.”

“By the time we started—you mean by the time we started having sex?” Sirius lunged forward, gripping Remus roughly by both shoulders, wanting to rip the truth out of him now that he was beginning to understand how many lies there must have been. “That was _four years ago!_ ”

Remus pushed his hands against Sirius’ forearms with gentle but unrelenting pressure. It wasn’t easy, but Sirius managed to let go. He didn’t quite want to hurt Remus. Not yet. Sirius pressed his hands over his face, terrified by the wounded anger that was threatening to swallow him whole. He didn’t trust himself to have this conversation.

“Dumbledore didn’t order me to sleep with anyone,” Remus said quietly. “My orders were to gain the pack’s trust, gather information, and try to turn anyone who might have doubts back to our side. Rolf and I—”

“ _Rolf?_ Are you fucking kidding me?”

Remus talked over him, still quiet, but also still unmoving. “Rolf and I have been together since the second full moon that I ran with Greyback’s pack.” That would have been just a month or two before Sirius had slept with him. “Once I started, I couldn’t stop, not without risking the entire point of being there. I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t want to lose you. I still don’t. I couldn’t stand it.” His eyes were wide, begging Sirius to understand, but any empathy Sirius might have had was small and struggling, a tiny spark that he had to fight hard to keep alive.

“Then you’re going to have to find a way to stop it now!” he growled.

Remus took two small steps backwards and two deep, shaky breaths. “I don’t want to. I—I don’t want to lose either of you.”

“Remus.” Sirius followed him. “Don’t be stupid. You can’t have both. And you love me.” He repeated those words over and over in his mind, trying desperately to stay calm. Remus loved him. He had said so. Sirius curled his fist possessively around that knowledge, hanging onto it with everything he had.

“I care about both of you. So much.” Remus ran a trembling hand through his hair, not making eye contact. “Y-you’ve been all over the queer scene, right? It’s not that unusual, to want to be in a relationship with two people at once. What do they call it, polyamory.”

“No,” Sirius said, voice rising, spurred upward by the word _relationship._ “Polyamory is honest and consensual. Everyone involved is supposed to know what’s going on and want it to be that way. What _you’ve_ been doing is called _cheating_.”

Something about that word finally broke through Remus’ thin veneer of calm. “Only because you would never have let me if you had known what was going on!”

“Of course I wouldn’t have!” Sirius bellowed. “I wouldn’t have been able to handle it! And I would have known that, and I would have told you, and we wouldn’t be in this mess!” He pressed his fingers into his temples, hard, forcing himself to stop screaming. “Remus, it’s not too late to stop this. Not if you really want to. You can find another way to complete your mission and—

“My mission.” Remus laughed bitterly. “There’s no chance of that. I never had a chance. Do you have any idea what the Dark Lord does for them? They have homes, protected transformation sites, dedicated Healers, a whole bloody community, and what do I have to offer? Nothing! Hell, what has being in the Order ever offered _me?_ Seven years of full moons trapped in a broken down shack that I probably would have died in a dozen times over if it weren't for you and James! And for what? For an education whose only real purpose was to make me feel indebted enough to fight in this stupid war that _I don’t give a damn about!_ ” His voice was shaky with despair by the end, more unstable than Sirius had ever seen him.

“You don’t mean that.” Sirius shook his head, truly shocked. He was supposed to be the sullen, nihilistic one. Remus was always the one who did care, the one who hoped for something better, even if he had never liked to have to fight for it. Seeing so much bitterness revealed so abruptly was terrifying, and Sirius found himself playing devil’s advocate, even though it was him that had just told the Order to go fuck themselves. “The Death Eaters are monsters, the real kind, the ones that kill to get what they want—”

“Don’t play that game with me,” Remus snapped. “As if the Order hasn’t had people killed! As if _you_ haven’t been the one doing it!”

Sirius recoiled, Remus’ words hitting him like a slap to the face. “I—how did you—”

“It’s not that hard to figure out! I know about at least some of the missions you’ve been sent on, and I know that no one hears from the targets afterwards. No one on _either_ side.”

Sirius was still reeling, confused, horrified. How long had Remus known? Did it even matter? It was too late now. Everything was slipping out of his control. If Remus knew, then this might really be it. He would never want to be with him again. Sirius’ insides were rotting, reaching up to pull the rest of him down into the pit of filth that had been his destiny from the beginning, and Remus, his only lifeline, was almost out of reach. There might not be any way to fix this. But he had to try, he _had_ to. “It-it’s not the same. The Order only sent me after the worst of the worst, and the Death Eaters have been murdering innocents by the hundreds! You can’t possibly call them the same. You can’t call _him_ the same as me!”

“Him—you mean Rolf? Rolf isn’t a Death Eater!” Remus said, clearly outraged. “None of them are! They’re just people, just trying to stay alive in a society that wants to demonize us into oblivion!”

 _Us_ , Sirius thought. He wasn’t a part of that _us_. He shifted tactics desperately. “Look, I’m hardly going to argue about werewolves being treated like shit for as long as anyone can remember. I don’t care what you think about the war at all. I don’t give a shit about any of it!” He lunged forward, grabbing Remus’ hand, holding it far too tight. “So let’s just get out of here. I already told Dumbledore and the whole Order to fuck off, just this morning. We can take James and Lily and Harry and just run away from this whole batshit crazy country before we all get killed!”

Remus sighed. He tried to pull his hand away, weakly, but Sirius wouldn’t let him go. “That is exactly what I used to want. But not anymore.”

“Why not?” Sirius pulled him in closer, ignoring the resistance, determined to convince him. If he could just get Remus in close enough, he could make him understand that this was where he belonged.

Remus gave up on struggling after a moment and let Sirius wrap his arms around him, but the words he spoke against Sirius’ chest were the wrong ones. “I won’t leave him.”

The delicate balance of repulsion and yearning inside Sirius tipped, and he shoved Remus out of his arms as far as he could push him. Remus stumbled but managed to keep his balance.

“You _won’t_ ,” Sirius snarled. “So what’s your solution then? You’re just going to leave me—leave _all_ of us—for some Death Eater scum?”

“He is _not_ a Death Eater,” Remus said, fists clenching in fury. He was totally unlike himself. “He’s a _person_ , one I’m just as much in love with as I am with you. He already knows there’s someone else, and he doesn’t mind it. If you want to be with me, then you’ll just have to learn to deal with it too!”

“That won’t work. I told you, you can’t have both!” Sirius’ could hear the dark, dangerous fury in his voice, could feel it in every tight muscle, but Remus didn’t seem affected at all. Remus had never been afraid of him. That had always been part of his appeal, but now, for the first time, Sirius wished it was otherwise, and he was almost too angry to feel ashamed about it.

Remus lifted his chin, “You could _try—”_

“ _No!_ ” Sirius was shouting with his whole body now. “I won’t share you with anyone, not ever! You’re _mine_.”

Then suddenly he was on the floor, and his jaw was crying out in pain. Remus was standing over him, fists clenched, face twisted ugly with rage. Sirius put a hand to his jaw and stared up at him, totally stunned. Remus had _hit_ him. Remus, who had only ever really gotten angry a couple times in his whole life. Remus, who never wanted to hurt anyone.

“I am not.” Remus’ voice was a low hiss, far more frightening than any shouting match. “I am _not_ yours. Not yours, not Dumbledore’s, not anyone’s. I am not a _thing_ , and Rolf seems to be the only one who understands that lately. And you wonder _why._ ”

Sirius started to protest, started to sit up a bit, but Remus shoved him back down with his shoe pressing hard on his shoulder.

“Shut up!” Remus snarled. “You are going to listen, for once! You’ve always underestimated me, all of you. Sometimes I think you see me as no better than Peter, like I’m just tagging along and mooching off your coolness. What, you think that just because I like to play submissive in bed, that means I’m something you can literally control, actually _own?_ As if I don’t have any initiative whatsoever? You have no idea.” He leaned down, and his sneaker slid an inch forward on Sirius’ shoulder, leaving a smear of chilly October mud. “You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

Sirius closed his eyes. This wasn’t the Remus he knew at all. It was a projection of himself, his worst fears made real. Somehow, his poison had spread, and Remus, the person who had been standing closest, had caught it. He had dared to show Remus a few small parts of his darkness, naively thinking that Remus would care about him anyways, and this was the result. A monster.

Remus’ shoe dug into his shoulder one more time, and then the weight of it disappeared. By the time Sirius opened his eyes, the echoes of the slammed front door were bouncing off the walls, and Remus was gone.

He lay there for a long time, staring at nothing as the creeping sludge inside him tried to weld him to the floor for good. Finally, he got up and wandered around the flat. He passed by James and Lily’s old door. That room was empty now, just a hollow shell of darkness. There were no lights inside, no furniture, no brother in arms. Sirius turned and pounded the door with both fists, watching the cheap wood splinter and feeling no satisfaction whatsoever. In that moment, he hated James right along with Remus—or rather with the monster Remus had become. He hated them _all_. He hated them for leaving him for better men, for babies, for cute little cottages with a view of a garden. But, as usual, he hated himself most of all, because he was always the reason for all of it.

He burst out the front door, leaving it unlocked and swinging wide. He ran through the chilly London streets until he was too tired to keep going, then he changed into Padfoot and ran some more. It had all turned out exactly as he had expected, only he had not only driven Remus away, he had turned him against them all. Sirius didn’t have to wonder who the leak Dumbledore had been so worried about was anymore. Remus had been lying about sleeping with the other side for _years._ He couldn't have avoided leaking information even if he had wanted to. And he probably hadn't wanted to avoid it, not with all that talk about the “Dark Lord” doing more for him than the Order ever had. He wasn't a leak, he was a bloody fountain.

To Sirius’ shame, it didn’t even matter. He still wanted to fix it, still wanted Remus to be with him. He didn’t even care which side Remus was on, as long as they could be there together. He realized now, when truly faced with the prospect of losing him, that he would never survive without him. The Black pit would swallow him whole, in one fell swoop. He needed Remus. He would do anything, _anything,_ to keep even a little part of what they had _._

He would even share Remus with someone else, or try to. 

But by the time he got back home, it was too late. Everything Remus had ever owned was gone. There was nothing but a dark flat, dark rooms, dark spaces where James’ and Remus’ belongings had once belonged, and the dark hole inside him that was the root of it all.

+++

When the Dementors came for him, with their dark, cavernous faces and their reek of despair, he laughed.

He didn't even care that he hadn’t committed the crime they had probably been sent after him for. He had done so much worse, and he had nothing left to care about anymore. No _one_ left to care about. This was only what he deserved.

They surrounded him, summoned all of his worst memories, and confronted him with his own despicableness, but he hardly registered a difference. He knew this music. It had lived inside him his entire life.

If he had known, twelve years later, that he would have that tune stuck in his head for the rest of his life too, he probably never would have tried to escape at all.


	4. Ashes

_Excuse me sir I would like to leave the ride_  
 _Too many emergencies this time_  
 _I forgot, I forgot all this,_  
 _all the trouble at my fingertips_  
 _Feels like those evil things inside_  
  
 _We caught the fire but the body escaped_  
 _Love all the people but I don't know their names_  
 _I don't know their names_  
  
 _I'm in no fit state_  
 _I'm in no fit shape_  
 _To fall in love with you_  
 _To make a record of my life_  
 _To lose any more than I need_  
 _To watch my fingers bleed_  
 _To bust my body up_  
 _To drink out of your cup_  
 _To act a fool in love_  
 _Acting hard's been tough_  
-No Fit State, by Hot Chip

 

“Oh. You look well,” Remus sounded surprised, as if he had expected to find Sirius standing on his doorstep in rags, as filthy and bedraggled as he had been the night Peter had gotten away.

Sirius shrugged. “I do still know how to clean up.”

Everything he was wearing—Muggle jeans, black t-shirt, and hideous running shoes he never would have tolerated fifteen years ago—was stolen from a house in the next town. He had showered there as well. He had even stolen the buzzer he had used to cut off his hair. He wouldn't have tolerated having no hair back then either, but he had no illusions about looking attractive anymore. He was hollow-cheeked and hideous, and no amount of hair would hide it. “Buckbeak is out back.”

“Come in,” Remus said, smiling a bit, but Sirius stayed right where he was.

“Dumbledore told me to come here,” he said, “but I don't care what he says. If you don't want me here, I’ll leave.” He took a couple steps backwards without even meaning to, sure that they would be the first of many.

“I want you here.” Remus leaned against the doorframe and looked at him steadily. “What do you want?”

Sirius looked past him into the tiny cottage. He could see a threadbare couch, a kitchen table, and a fireplace. Light. Warmth. “I want to come in.”

“Then come in.”

There were only two tiny rooms. The main room had a rudimentary Muggle-style kitchen, a table with two folding chairs, and a ratty couch. The bedroom was equally sparse, with only the bed and a small dresser with books piled atop it. Two stacked milk crates served as a bedside table. Then there was a closet-sized bathroom with a toilet, sink, and stained claw-foot tub, and that was it. Apparently, the Order of the Phoenix paid exactly as well as it had used to—not at all.

There was also, Sirius knew, a reinforced shed full of chains out back, but Remus didn't show him that. He only knew about it because he had circled the house four times while gathering the courage to knock.

“You can sleep on the couch or with me in the bed,” Remus said, as casually as if he was offering Sirius a choice between tea and coffee. Sirius had no idea how to respond to that. Fortunately, it was still midday, so he had some time to figure it out. The bed wasn’t all that small, but it was still smaller than the one they had shared in their flat long ago. Or at least Sirius thought their old bed had been bigger. He didn’t remember it very well, which probably meant only nice things had happened there. The Dementors had done a pretty good job wiping out all his nice memories.

“I don’t remember much about what happened in our bedroom at all, actually,” he said aloud while Remus was making him tea, not realizing he was continuing the conversation from inside his own head. “So it must have been mostly nice.”

Remus turned back towards him, surprised, and Sirius flushed, realizing he had spoken randomly to the air like a crazy person. He _was_ a crazy person, or so close to one as to make no difference. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“It’s all right,” Remus said. “It was very nice. You don’t remember?”

“Not really. Like a dream. Except for the bad parts. I remember those.”

Remus was quiet, watching the kettle heat the water, and Sirius regretted telling him anything. Remus looked very sad, and Sirius vaguely remembered that there had been a time when he would have done anything—stupid things, silly things, sincere things—to lift that expression away. He didn’t know what to do about it now.

“Are you hungry?” Remus said at last. “I could make toast.”

“I ate lunch before I came. Stole it. I’ve gotten pretty good at this life of crime thing.” That’s what he might have done, he realized, if Remus was sad. He might have made a joke, and it might have helped. It didn’t this time. Remus didn't laugh or say anything. He pulled out the bread and a toasting iron.

“I said I ate,” Sirius said.

“I know. I’m making some toast anyways. No offense, but you look like you could use more than one lunch.”

Sirius looked down at his bony hands and didn’t argue. He ate the toast, and Remus made more, and he ate that too. This pattern repeated until the loaf of bread was gone. Remus sat opposite him with his tea, and the flimsy plastic folding chairs creaked whenever they moved. When Sirius had finished, Remus put his mug down and said, “I owe you an apology.”

Sirius’ hand jerked, and his own mug clattered on the chipped laminate tabletop. “Don’t you even start, Remus. I swear, if you try to apologize to me I will walk right out that door.”

There was a long pause where Remus was probably looking at him incredulously, but Sirius refused to look up. “You’re not going to let me apologize after I cheated on you for _four years?_ If you remember the bad parts, I’m sure you remember that.”

Sirius shook his head stubbornly, staring at the small river of tea that had sloshed out of his mug. “I should have trusted you. Or better yet, I never should have gotten involved with you at all. I knew it would be a disaster, and it was.”

Remus sighed. “How could you have known that? You had no idea I was seeing someone. Or did you trust me so little from the start?”

“No. Of course not. It was always me that was going to ruin it. It was only a matter of time.” Sirius could see, out of the corner of his eye, that Remus was opening his mouth to protest again, so he scrambled for something else to say. “Whatever happened to Rolf, anyways? I half expected to find him here. Dumbledore said ‘the Lupins,’ like there was a whole flock of you.”

“No. It’s just me.” Remus picked up Sirius’ mug and passed a kitchen cloth under it, cleaning up the spilled tea. “Rolf fled to the continent after Voldemort’s fall, along with almost every other werewolf in Britain. I tried to convince him to stay, that I could protect him, but he didn’t believe me. He took the revelation that I was a spy about as well as you took the revelation that I had been seeing him. I never heard from him again.”

He took the wet towel to the sink and held it under the tap. Sirius watched the dark smear of tea fade under the force of the water until the cloth in Remus’ hands was white again. He hardly felt anything when he thought about what Remus had done, although he knew he had burned with betrayal at the time. Everything was so flat now. He couldn’t imagine feeling anything that intensely again.

“It’s like destiny,” he said. “We’re destined to be miserable.”

“Maybe.” Remus shrugged his shoulders halfway, looking out the window as he washed the dishes. “Or maybe things will get better. They’re already better.”

Sirius didn’t believe that for a second, but he nodded, because this felt familiar. That was what Remus had been like then. Optimistic.

When Remus had finished washing the dishes he turned around, leaning against the counter. “How is Padfoot?”

Sirius winced. “Pretty bad.” He had gone swimming in a nearby stream yesterday, but he suspected he had come out more muddy than he had gone in, and there hadn’t been any way of dealing with the matted snarls in his fur.

“Do you want help?”

“You don’t have to,” Sirius said guiltily.

“I would like to. If you’ll let me.”

Sirius waited to change into Padfoot until he was actually standing in the empty tub, afraid of Remus’ reaction if he got filth and fleas all over the house. He wasn’t looking forward to the reaction regardless, so he was surprised when he looked up with Padfoot’s eyes and saw Remus smiling.

“You weren’t kidding,” he said with dark good humor. “Well, we have our work cut out for us.”

It took the entire rest of the day, and Sirius was deeply grateful that they managed to kill so much time. He didn’t know how to be around people very much anymore, especially around Remus, but he did all right as Padfoot. And it wasn’t hard to just stand there while Remus bathed him repeatedly and spent hours painstakingly removing knots from his fur. Remus had done this for him before, although the mess had never been nearly this bad. It felt almost as nice as it had then. 

Later that evening, they sat on the sunken-in couch and ate soup from a tin Remus had heated with his wand. They were both too tired to cook, and there wasn’t much else to eat in the house anyways. The soup was hot, and the fire in front of them was warm, and Sirius found himself almost calm for the first time in a very long time.

“It’s so strange to me that you don’t remember,” Remus said. “Being with you those years…it felt like the most important thing in my life. The best part of my life. And you don’t even remember.”

“I remember some things, sort of.” Sirius paused, trying to sort through the dusty ashes that were all that remained of most of his memories. “I remember…you made me feel strong. And good. You made me feel like a good person. I wanted to feel like that so much. I wanted you so much.”

His eyes were closed, so he had very little warning. There was only the shifting of the angle of the couch cushion, a brush of fabric against his knee. When he looked, Remus was right in front of him, so very close. His face was lit halfway by the firelight, and he looked so breathtakingly familiar that Sirius couldn’t move, not even when Remus leaned forward and kissed him.

This, he was sure, was not at all how it had been before, although he knew they had kissed many times in many different ways. But it had never been like this. It was a gentle, closed-mouth kiss, but Remus still seemed to be full of energy, of passion, like he was a live electrical wire that had come loose from a Muggle telephone pole, whipping around wildly, sparking, dangerous, deadly. Sirius had used to be able to contain that energy. He had used to have a place inside himself to direct it, hold it, cherish it. Now he had nothing but a cold, empty cave. The wind might whistle through, but nothing could ever live there again. Remus’ lips felt like a burning brand against his skin. They _hurt._ He couldn’t stand it.

He was vaguely aware of some jostling, of things bumping his knees and elbows, and then when he opened his eyes he was sitting sprawled on the floor on the other side of the room, with his back pressing hard against the wall. He didn’t know exactly how he had gotten there, but from the shocked look on Remus’ face and the tang of magic in the air, he thought he might have accidentally Apparated.

“I’m sorry,” Remus whispered. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

Sirius curled his arms around his head, wishing he still had his hair so he could hide his face, although he had never used it for that before.

At least now he knew to choose the couch.

+++

The attics were the brightest part of Grimmauld Place, but they felt dark today, because Remus was away.

“First I walked through the house and pulled all the sheets off the furniture. Then a couple hours later I went and covered stuff back up again. You know, the regular routine. Do you know, there's this really truly hideous lamp in the next room over. I think they were trying to sculpt a hippogriff, you should feel offended.

“I took care of the last of Remus’ Productive Things For Sirius To Do list by mid-afternoon, although I doubt the dusting charm in the front hall is what he had in mind. But maybe he’s never seen dust turn blue before. Maybe he’ll be impressed.

“I refrained from having a shouting match with my mother’s portrait and had a shouting match with Kreature instead. A half-shouting, half-grumbling match, I mean. I'm sure Remus wouldn't approve, so please don't tell him.

“Anyways, so you see it's now 2:37 pm according to this clever watch that Weasley kid gave me, and the most sane thing I did all day was talk to you, Buckbeak.”

“Hippogriffs are Type B semi-sentient creatures,” Remus said from the doorway. “Talking to Buckbeak is a perfectly sensible thing to do.”

“Remus!” Sirius startled and scrambled to his knees, slipping a bit in the shredded newspaper and various unmentionable damp substances on the floor. “Back early, not—but tomorrow!”

His body and mouth were both stumbling, confused by his excitement, so he gave up and transformed into Padfoot. Padfoot still knew how to be excited. Even more importantly, Padfoot could still touch Remus without feeling like he was dying.

Remus laughed and pulled Padfoot out from under Buckbeak’s nervously shifting claws. He took a moment to greet the hippogriff with proper respect so he wouldn’t lose a limb and then sat down on the floor to wrap his arms around Padfoot’s neck, heedless of the mess he was making of his robes.

“They didn’t need me, not really, so I left a day early. Do you want to hear about it?”

Reluctantly, Padfoot pulled out of Remus’ arms and transformed back into a human. Sirius preferred to listen with a human head when Remus told stories of what was going on in the outside world. Padfoot’s imaginative capacities were sorely lacking. Sirius sat against the opposite wall with Buckbeak almost between them and closed his eyes to better absorb every detail.

He didn’t know how much longer he could stay cooped up like this. Being in Grimmauld Place was doing terrible things to what little had remained of his sanity. Everyone knew it, including Remus, but somehow they had both gotten back under Dumbledore’s thumb, and this was what Dumbledore wanted. Harry, that was how. Everything came back to Harry lately. It had to. He was the only hope they had.

Sirius listened quietly until Remus had nothing left to say, then he opened his eyes. Remus was only half visible behind Buckbeak’s feathered front legs. “Come closer?”

Remus edged around to sit next to him until their shoulders were touching. Sirius took a deep breath, trying very hard to just feel it and be grateful instead of hating himself for not being able to handle more. That wasn’t a battle he won very often. But today was a good day, because he didn’t feel like blaming Remus at all. Not that any of this was ever even remotely his fault, but sometimes Sirius lost sight of that.

Remus shifted, and his hand brushed against the back of Sirius’, skin on skin, no clothes, no protection. Sirius couldn’t help it. He flinched away. “S-sorry,” he mumbled, trying to laugh and make it not pathetic, failing. “Too close. I know it’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” Remus said. He moved his hand out of the way and leaned their shoulders together a bit more. “I like it when you tell me what you need, you know.”

Remus had been reading a new kind of book lately, books with titles like “Being with Someone Who Is Depressed” and “Recovering From Trauma.” He transfigured the covers, but Sirius had found out anyways. He wanted to hate all the therapist-talk, wanted to call it psychobabble, but the truth was Remus always made it sound so sincere. It was impossible to hate him for it, as much as Sirius wanted to hate everything sometimes.

“It’s like fire,” Sirius said after a little while, eyes closed so he would have one less thing to worry about. “You're like fire. Too far away, and I freeze. Too close, and…it burns.”

“It really does, doesn't it? I mean, literally.” Sirius nodded, and Remus sighed. “I tried to look things up for you, but there really isn’t any precedent. The few people who have been released from Azkaban weren’t exposed nearly as long as you were. And the ones who have been exposed that long are all…” He trailed off, looking away.

“Completely nuts, I know,” Sirius said bitterly. “I saw them every day. It’s because of Padfoot. Or I would have been just like them. Gods, Remus, I’m so sorry.” His hair had grown back enough to be of some use as a shield, and he was using it for that now, along with his hands on either side of his face.

“I don't mind, Sirius. This is enough. You’ve always been enough.”

That wasn’t true. Remus deserved better—he always had—but Sirius was selfish enough to hope that Remus meant it in this moment. The muscles between his ribs tightened, like he could put enough pressure on the emptiness inside him to turn it into something. “I mind. I can't stand it. I think it's going to kill me.”

“Don’t say that. Not ever. Here.” Remus held out his hand between them, palm up. “Hold my hand. Just as long as you can.”

Sirius stared at the offered skin for a long minute. He knew how it would feel, but he also knew that Remus knew too, and Remus wanted it anyways. So he did it. He jerked as their hands touched, but he made himself grip Remus’ fingers. It was like gripping the edge of a hot frying pan. He gasped and broke out into a sweat after only a few seconds. He could feel the flames licking up his arm towards his heart, excruciating, unbearable. He held on until he thought he might pass out from it, and it was actually Remus who wrenched his hand away first.

“Enough.” Remus picked up Sirius’ arm by the sleeved wrist and looked at his hand. Sirius half-expected to see blisters or even charred flesh, but it was only a little red. The pain had stopped as soon as he let go.

“Maybe you would get used to it,” Remus said thoughtfully, in what Sirius now thought of as his professor-voice. “Perhaps a systematic, gradual exposure…”

“I don't think so. I think it's getting worse. Merlin, it's so stupid. It doesn't even make any _sense_.” Sirius curled his hand into a fist and pulled his arm out of Remus’ grasp. “You know, I think about you when I wank? But I can't even fucking touch you.”

“You think about me? I thought you didn’t want…” Remus was chewing the inside of his lip, a small gesture that Sirius thought he should recognize. “Maybe—I wouldn't mind watching, Sirius.”

Sirius suspected that once upon a time this suggestion would have turned him on to no end. In fact, he was pretty sure they had done something along those lines more than a couple times. But that had been a long time ago. He had been a totally different person, someone he had completely lost track of during all those years in a dark stone cell. “You wouldn’t enjoy it. I’m not much to see anymore.”

“I don’t agree,” Remus said evenly. “I would love to see you.”

Sirius sighed, frustrated, forced into uncomfortable honesty. “I don't think I could. Even just the way you _look_ at me sometimes…”

There was a long silence, broken only by the sound of Buckbeak shifting around, butting his head against the window. Sirius wasn’t the only one suffering from this confinement, he knew, but Buckbeak was no more free to leave than he was.

“What do you think about?” Remus asked.

Sirius hung his head down, pushing his hands into his hair. “I'm so sorry, Remus. I've got nothing for you. It's just stupid stuff, pathetic, really.”

“You can tell me.”

Remus’ hand landed between his shoulder blades, just lightly. Sirius could feel the heat of it, but with the fabric of his shirt between them, it was tolerable.

“Like that.” He rolled his shoulders slightly to show Remus what he meant, feeling the shift of Remus’ hand. “I think about you touching me, not even anything sexual really, just…your arms around me. And it doesn't hurt.” He exhaled shakily and pressed his fingers to the inside corners of his eyes to stop the tears that were threatening to leak out. “See, I told you. Pathetic.”

“It’s not pathetic,” Remus said softly. He ran his hand slowly down Sirius’ spine. “I miss that too.”

Sirius turned and pressed his face into the knee of Remus’ trousers, hating himself, wishing for things to be different. He felt so vulnerable—and not in a good way. All it would take was for Remus to slide his hand up into his hair or to reach out and touch his cheek, and Sirius knew he would completely fall apart. Thankfully, Remus didn't do anything like that. Instead, he said, “Will you come downstairs with me? I want to try something.”

Sirius did as he asked, following him into the bedroom they shared when no one else was home, the one with the bed Remus had enlarged so they wouldn’t accidentally brush against each other in the night. Truly, he didn’t like the idea of “gradual exposure,” which this was probably going to be an experiment in, but today was one of the few days when he felt like he could trust Remus with anything, so he might as well take advantage of it. Remus waved his wand to clean Buckbeak’s mess off them, then he pulled back the blankets and directed Sirius to lay down.

To his surprise, Remus didn’t try to touch him. Instead, he threw the sheet and heavy down duvet over him, even carefully tucking them around his head, leaving just enough opening for Sirius to breathe. Then he lay down on top of the blankets and wrapped himself around Sirius’ back, spooning right up against him with the comforter between them.

“Like that?” he asked. Even his voice was muffled by all the fabric around Sirius’ head, but the solid feel of his arm was very present, as was the weight of his leg when he wrapped it around Sirius’ hip.

“Yeah,” Sirius said, exhaling shakily. Like this, he could feel the pressure and warmth of Remus’ body without the pain. Tears trickled from the sides of his eyes and dampened the pillow beneath him. They should have thought of this a long time ago. “You-you’re a genius.”

“Thanks,” Remus said, and Sirius could hear him smiling. He felt the solid roundness of Remus’ forehead against the back of his neck, and his vision was mostly obscured by the tunnel of white. It all felt a bit silly, and somehow that helped. It was hard to wallow in self-hatred with a blanket wrapped around his head like a kid sneaking candy under the blankets at night. The down feathers in the comforter made small crunching sounds as Remus squeezed him, and he felt a shadow of peace. Only a shadow, but that was more than nothing.

They lay like that for a long time, and Sirius dozed, opening his eyes once in a while to make note of the changing angle of the shadows as the day passed. Remus had come back a day early, so that meant there would be a least one full day before he could reasonably be called away again. Hopefully, they could spend most of it like this.

The light had almost faded when Remus moved. He slowly pulled back the duvet so Sirius had only the sheet covering him and dragged his hand down Sirius’ arm, over his chest, around to his hip, wandering but with clear intent.

“Is this all right?” he asked, and it was impossible to misinterpret the desire in his voice, heavy and real.

Sirius swallowed. He hardly knew how to answer. He felt a dense, pervasive throbbing that was almost as scary as the pain, but it didn’t actually hurt. “I think—it’s almost nice.”

“Almost nice?” Remus’ hand stopped moving. “I don’t know what that means. Do you want me to keep going?”

“Keep going.”

So Remus pulled his hand everywhere he could reach in long strokes, stretching the sheet taught with firm lines of pressure. He might have been carving channels in thick mud, pushing aside the surface, exposing the nerves beneath. Sirius shuddered and pushed back, and his breath started to come more quickly, but it wasn't until Remus started to knead his knuckles into the scant muscles of his thigh that Sirius realized he was hard.

It shouldn't have surprised him so much. That had never been the source of the problem. He wished it was. There were spells to fix that, easy ones, and he vaguely remembered using them when they had been too impatient to wait out normal refractory periods. And here they were again, with Remus’ breath hitching audibly as his hand crept closer and closer. Sirius turned his hips, pushing his crotch into Remus’ hand, giving permission, since it was as clear as day that this was what Remus wanted.

“Fuck, Sirius,” Remus said, voice tight. He pressed his palm against Sirius’ cock, grinding with the heel of his hand hard enough to be felt through all that separated them.

Sirius didn't respond, but he reached down with shaking hands to undo the zip on his trousers, moving them and his underwear aside under the sheet. He was almost sure he could do this. He wanted to be able to do it so badly.

Remus gripped his cock again, and this time there was only the sheet there, no clothing. Sirius could feel each one of Remus’ fingers as individual coils of warmth. The heat was shockingly strong, but not enough to burn, more like stepping into a very hot bath. Sirius clenched his jaw around a moan, although he wasn't sure why he felt the need to hide it, but he hissed at the rough scrape of the sheet when Remus started to stroke him.

Remus pulled himself up on one elbow, and his breath came seeping through the cotton, curling around Sirius’ ear like hot smoke. “This is going to get a bit messy,” he warned and murmured a spell that Sirius hadn't known in a long time. Suddenly his cock was covered in cool, slick lubricant, and the sheet was moving smoothly with Remus’ hand. Sirius whimpered as his control faltered, and he began thrusting into the firm, slippery pocket Remus— _brilliant_ Remus—had created.

“Yeah, like that,” Remus groaned. Sirius felt him fumbling with his free hand, hitching up his own robes. Then there was the clear outline of Remus’ cock grinding insistently against his arse.

“Sh-shit,” Sirius gasped, because they were apparently really doing this, they really were having sex through a bloody sheet. Let it never be said that they hadn't tried everything.

“All right?” Remus asked desperately, mouth moving down to create a humid area in the fabric covering Sirius’ neck. Sirius just nodded, beginning to worry that he would lose his rather tenuous grip on enjoying this if he spoke again.

Remus’ mouth pressed the sheet to his neck, damp and searingly hot, and he bit down. Sirius jerked all over from the pressure of teeth and the wetness of saliva as it soaked through. Being bitten wasn't something he had ever liked before, he was sure, and truthfully he didn't like it even now, but at least he could fucking feel it. He began to wonder, wildly, what else they could accomplish with this magical sheet barrier between them. Could he suck Remus off, could he fuck him?

Suddenly his mind was inundated with memories of doing just that—not with a sheet of course, but they had done so many things. How many times had they fucked, in the shower, in bed, against a wall, on the floor, outside in the grass minutes before moonrise? He remembered sneaking back into Hogwarts one summer evening just so they could make up for lost opportunities, desecrating countless secret passageways, broom cupboards, and even the Prefect’s bathroom. He had tied Remus to a showerhead and jerked off for him, slow and showy, and then he had fucked him with his fingers—his whole _hand_ —until Remus was screaming so loud Sirius had to gag him for fear of overwhelming the privacy charm.

He remembered doing those things, and much more, but he couldn't get his head around wanting anything like that now. He only barely wanted this. It was like all of his kinks—all of his sexuality, period—had just disappeared, sucked into the void inside him that had always been so much more hungry than any libido could ever be.

Here, now, Remus loosened his teeth, replacing them with the round softness of his lips, and suddenly Sirius wanted to kiss him so much he thought he might die of it. He half turned under the sheet, but there was just no way.

“Hurry,” he gasped, sensing his stability was slipping away. He was caught between past and present, between what he wanted and what he wished he wanted. Remus stroked him so quickly the searing heat could have been caused by friction alone, his own hips thrusting with what might be more than a decade of built-up longing. 

Sirius could feel it now, so close. So close. How many times had he come in his life? He had probably racked up nearly a thousand orgasms in his seventh year at Hogwarts alone, many of them dedicated to Remus in spirit. Gods, he had been in love with that feeling from the first time he had really figured it out. The best times had been when he had come with a single emotion paramount in his body, distilled down into something much more intense than the day-to-day scope of emotions. He had orgasmed riding high on feelings of unadulterated strength, satisfaction, power, freedom, acceptance, or affection. He had always loved that sensation of rising up until that was all he could feel, all he could be, just that one thing, simple and strong and pure.

But it wasn’t always like that, even then. Orgasms, like some drugs, carried a risk of a bad trip. Sometimes—especially lately—when he came, he felt instead the potent depths of rage, terror, or despair. It would leave him an utter wreck. Once upon a time, he had made a science out of directing himself towards one experience or another, but he had long ago lost the trick of it. Now he could only wait and hope.

But there was so little hope in him now. He was lying alone in the bottom of a well with the wind whistling by above him, taunting him with whispers of things he could no longer have, could no longer want. He could only watch with dread as the storm of his orgasm approached and crashed over him. His blood raced, his body clenched, and his cock pulsed, but there was no enjoyment. There was only the crushing, hollow feeling of being completely, utterly alone. Alone even here, within the circle of Remus’ arms.

Once it was over, he just lay there with his eyes wet with tears and his heartbeat echoing around in his empty chest as Remus brought himself off behind his back. All he could do was reach around to touch Remus’ thigh through the sheet, a sad pretense of being involved, and he was seized with a sudden, dark certainty.

It didn't matter what he did. Even if the war ended, and he was pardoned, and he escaped the prison this house had become, he would never be what he had been.

He would never be well again.


	5. The Good Night

_It’s in your eyes, a color fade out_  
 _Looks like a new transition_  
 _Is starting up_  
 _And breaking your ground_  
 _Turn your head to see a new day coming_  
 _Does it feel like a hand to lean on?_  
 _A snapshot from when you were born?_  
 _I’m looking for your hand in the rough_  
 _You’re caught in the wire_  
 _But I lift you up_  
-Witchcraft, by Pendulum

The morning after Sirius’ seventeenth birthday party began with a thud as he fell out of bed, flailing to get free of the bed curtains that he had somehow managed to get tangled up in during the night. Fortunately, no one was around to observe his undignified dismount. He lay on the floor, propped his legs up on the bedpost, and considered today’s prospects.

Now that he was a fully mature adult, it was time to start getting Serious about certain things, in particular, Remus. He didn't believe for a minute that last night’s spin the bottle smooch was a fluke, as Remus had been so eager to propose. Flukes didn't feel like the best snog of his life. Remus’ rejection still stung, but a new day brought new hopes. After all, how many times had he convinced Remus to go along with something against his better judgment? He and James had practically developed a formula for it. All it took was persistence and pleading looks, with some jokes thrown in to make Remus laugh and put him in a good mood. And if that didn't work, he could always be brought around by the promise of interesting or impressive magic.

Come to think of it, he had always loved impressing Remus. He had always loved making him laugh. It was thrilling to an extent that should probably have made him suspicious long before a life-changing snog. Oh well, no point moaning about lost opportunities. What was he going to do about it now, that was the question. How did one go about romancing a wild—quite unexpectedly and enticingly wild—Moony?

After a few more minutes of contemplation, his eyes fell on one of Remus’ dusty Shakespeare books, which was shoved haphazardly under a corner of his bed. Perfect. Reciting stuffy poetry was exactly the right seduction strategy for Sirius’ brand new gay lifestyle. Remus would surely find that touching and impressive, and if Sirius chose a bit with dirty jokes (Remus had assured him Shakespeare was full of these) it would probably make him laugh too. He couldn't fail.

Unfortunately, this particular book was _Hamlet_ , which Remus had him told about. A story about a crazy fellow haunted by ghosts where everyone died by the end was definitely not romantic. He tossed it aside and examined the other books in the pile. _Much Ado About Nothing_ was rather the opposite of the impression he wanted to give. _A Midsummer Night’s Dream,_ now that sounded promising. Hopefully, some of the dreams were naughty. Maybe he could make Remus blush. Wouldn't that be wonderful?

He was leafing through that one with his head still half under the bed when he heard the characteristic thunder of James coming up the tower stairs.

“There you are!” James exclaimed as he burst through the door. “I've been looking for you everywhere!”

Sirius rolled his eyes, both at James and at the book in front of him, which didn't seem funny or dirty at all. Remus had been giving this Shakespeare fellow way too much credit. “You can't have looked that hard if you didn't think to check the room where we _sleep,_ you plonker.”

“I thought you’d be in our old flat for sure. Then I went to check Grimmauld Place, which in retrospect was pretty dumb. I should have known you’d end up here.”

“Our…old flat?” The book slid out of Sirius’ fingers, which were suddenly shaking. He felt a sick dread creeping up his spine towards his brain, an unwelcome harbinger of understanding.

He sat up to look at James, who was smiling warmly, but he looked…wrong. He was too old, too tired, and his glasses were the wrong ones. They weren’t wire wizarding frames, they were black plastic ones, the ones James had bought to replace the pair baby Harry had grabbed and twisted out of shape one afternoon when James had fallen asleep on the couch. He’d come home the next day wearing this pair, beaming at his own brilliance as he proudly proclaimed they were indestructible Muggle technology. Sirius and Remus had laughed themselves silly at the blocky, unattractive shape of the glasses, but Lily had just smiled, kissed him, and handed Harry to him so she could go to a mission briefing.

Only they hadn't been indestructible. The killing curse had cracked the glass and when Sirius had entered the ruined house he had stepped on them and they had crumbled under his feet like a dry leaf and now they were ash, dust, _gone_ —

“Whoa, easy there!” James lunged down to kneel on the floor with him and made a motion near Sirius’ forehead like he was picking an apple. “We’re gonna do the flashing before your eyes thing, but not yet.”

His hand came away from Sirius’ head trailing silver fire. It unfurled like a ribbon, and James sat back, coiling the fire up like a ball of yarn, pulling more and more from Sirius’ head until he had a tidy palm-sized flame dancing above his cupped hands. Sirius could only stare. He had never seen magic like this before, and James wasn’t even using a wand.

“Aww, it’s silver, like moonlight!” James gestured, and the fire moved to hover above his left shoulder. “You and I have always been so similar, Pads. See, mine’s red, like Lily’s hair.” He pointed at a more traditionally colored ball of flame that was suspended above his opposite shoulder. “Only I usually have it like this, for looks.” He flicked his fingers and the orange flame was suddenly a snitch, which flew in cheerful circles around his head. “I got a reputation to maintain. Could do yours too. Let’s see.” He flicked his fingers at the silver flame, inducing it to turn into various objects for Sirius’ consideration: the stuffed basilisk Sirius had carried around as a kid, his wand, a full moon, an empty Butterbeer bottle, a leather flogger, the bars from the window of his cell in Azkaban, Buckbeak’s harness, and a dozen other objects that Sirius recognized and remembered the significance of—although distantly, as if they were from someone else’s memories.

“Personally, I favor the flogger,” James said. “It’ll attract attention, and you always loved that.” He raised his eyebrows when Sirius didn't respond. “No? Maybe we’ll just leave it the way it is for now. There’s no rush. That’s the whole point.”

“But what _is_ it?” Sirius blurted out at last, staring at the weird silver flame.

“Oh! Can't you tell?” Jakes reached up to cup the flame in his hands again, smiling lovingly. “It’s your life.”

“My…life?” The swirling ball of silver did look a little like thoughts extracted for a Pensieve, only far more vivid and alive. And his memories of his life weren't gone, not anymore, not even the ones the Dementors had stolen. He remembered more than he had in years, but it was all a bit far away, disconnected. He must be dreaming. He had fallen asleep in the attics of Grimmauld Place, curled up next to Buckbeak, and he had been blessed with a dream of Hogwarts, a dream of James.

“Yep!” James paused, leaning forward to look into Sirius’ eyes. “You do know you’re dead, don’t you?”

“No, I’m not.” Sirius smiled, only half listening. He wanted to absorb as much of this vision of James as possible before the dream ended. “It’s good to see you though. You have no idea.”

James sighed. “You don't remember dying? Maybe you didn't have time to process. What's the last thing you remember?”

“Feeding Buckbeak,” Sirius said after a moment’s thought.

“All righty, let’s see.” James stretched out the flame between his hands like he was pulling taffy until it was a long, thin thread. Spread out like that, it had another kind of shape, little spikes and wiggles, like a seismograph. James reached confidently for the largest spike, grabbed it, and sent it back into Sirius’ skull with a flick of his fingers.

It made Sirius reel backwards, not from the impact of it, which he didn't even feel, but from the instant knowledge that came with it. Every event from the last twenty-four hours was suddenly crystal clear in his mind: a message of the worst sort, Harry in the Department of Mysteries, Bellatrix, a flash of light, a curtain, and then…

He fell apart. Not metaphorically, but literally. Every piece of him, physical and otherwise, dispersed across the wide sky, into the deep earth, and past both of these into the emptiness of space. Everything he had ever been—everything he had ever thought or felt or saw or done, _all of him—_ it all scattered until he was completely gone, incapable of thought. He was nothing but emptiness, the space between atoms, the darkness of an ending.

He died.

And then…a gathering. Something—no, some _one_ —found him. Piece by piece, he was painstakingly pushed back together, as if his soul was a collection of marbles dropped in the middle of St. Paul’s Cathedral, if one could imagine that cathedral the size of the entire known and unknown universe, and someone was sweeping all those marbles back into a pile, someone who knew the shape and shine of each part of him, someone who cared enough to find all of them amongst the emptiness, even the parts he had lost long before Azkaban. Eventually, he became solid enough to have a body, to feel the hand holding his own, to give it a name. James.

And with one final, firm tug, James sent him spinning through a thousand places, all the places he had ever been to, until he came to rest here, at Hogwarts.

When Sirius opened his eyes, James was kneeling over him, gathering the ribbon of life back in with the rest, smiling comfortingly. Sirius sat up, breathing hard. This wasn't a dream at all. He had _died_.

He started to shake, and not just his hands this time. His whole body shook violently, every muscle, even his lungs, and then he was crying in big messy sobs—but not of grief or fear. He felt only relief.

He was dead. There would be no more pain. He would never disappoint Harry again. He would never again turn on Remus like a mad, caged animal, or bring the horrible light of regret into Remus’ eyes. He would never betray anyone again, never fail anyone again. It was all over.

James sat on the floor and wrapped himself around him, arms and legs both, pressing Sirius’ head against his chest with the same steady, often-hidden patience he had shown the only other time Sirius had broken down like this, the night he had shown up on James’ doorstep, no longer a Black. Sirius couldn't do anything but cry and let himself be held, until finally, much later, his body and mind grew quiet.

He was dead, and there was an afterlife. What sort of afterlife it was didn't even matter. James was here. Everything was going to be all right.

+++

It was a strange sort of heaven, if he wanted to call it that. For one thing, he and James seemed to be the only people in it.

“Do you want anyone else to be here?” James asked when Sirius brought this up.

Sirius lowered his eyes. He should want to see lots of people that had died before him, but he didn’t, not even their many friends that had been killed in the war. Not even Lily. The truth was, he desperately wanted James to himself—no spouses, no babies, no laughing crowd—just the two of them.

James gave him a one-armed hug. “That’s why. Don't worry, Lily and everyone else is here, they're just not _here_.”

They were standing at the window of Gryffindor tower, looking out at the oddly still lake and grounds below. As Sirius watched, a breeze rippled the water and the leaves of the forest beyond, but there was no sign of animal life.

“What am I supposed to be doing?” he asked.

James just smiled. “Nothing.”

So that’s what Sirius did. He wandered the empty hallways, exploring the castle even more thoroughly than he had when he was in school. He and James played exploding snap and one-on-one Quidditch and all the games they had invented as teenagers. He read all the books in the school library that he hadn't had a chance to look at in life. He even read some of Remus’ Shakespeare. He didn't care for the plays, not when they were written down anyways, but some of the sonnets weren't half-bad, and they did indeed have dirty parts if you looked very closely. 

He spent long hours examining the many odd plants and rock formations in the Forbidden Forest, making drawings and cataloging them with a meticulousness that would have made Remus proud. Sometimes he went running through the trees or swimming in the lake as Padfoot just for the joy of it. That was something he hadn’t felt in a long time. Joy.

There were no centaurs or unicorns in the forest, no birds in the sky, no squid or merfolk in the lake, no mice scurrying in the castle dungeons. Aside from plants, there was no life at all except himself and James. It should have been creepy, but it wasn't. It was peaceful. This place was his, entirely. He didn't have to share it with anyone or consult anyone’s needs and interests but his own. And James’, of course, but that was no more a burden in death than it had been in there life.

It was impossible to know how much time passed. When he wanted to feel the warmth of the sun, it was daytime. When he wanted to watch the stars, it was night. He never felt hungry unless he wanted to, and then he ate. He still needed to sleep, but only when his brain felt so full that it needed to turn off for a while. Most of the time he slept in James’ arms like he had occasionally when he was a first year, when all four of them would huddle in one bed to share snacks and plan pranks until they fell asleep.

At first, he needed to have James with him nearly all the time, for fear that he would disappear. James never seemed to mind. On the contrary, he was always ready for whatever Sirius proposed, whether it was a lazy day in front of the common room fire or a long hike in the forest. When Sirius finally inquired, guiltily, if Lily minded Sirius dominating his time, James just shook his head and said that it didn't work like that, which Sirius could only suppose meant James could be in two places at once, or perhaps there really was no such thing as time here, so it wasn’t possible to dominate it.

Sirius was young again. He looked and felt like the seventeen year-old he had first thought he was upon arriving here. His face was smooth and free of wrinkles. His whole body, from cheekbones to ribs to knees to knuckles, was softened by the healthy weight of fat and muscles. He still had all the small scars he had acquired in childhood and while at Hogwarts, but the brutal marks of war and Azkaban were gone. He looked like himself.

It took him a long while, many hypothetical days and nights, but eventually, he got the guts to tell James he was sorry.

“Don’t be like that, Padfoot,” James said. “It wasn't your fault I died. Let’s see, do you want them to be chocolate flavored or strawberry?” They were rifling through the house-elf-free kitchens, looking for ingredients for edible fireworks, an idea they had tossed around back in the day but had never perfected.

“It was my decision that caused it,” Sirius said, gesturing distractedly to the chocolate bar in James’ left hand. Chocolate would make them Remus-y. That was the one thing he didn't like about this place. Remus wasn't here. But he would be eventually, so even that didn't bother him too much. “I didn't trust him. Remus, I mean. I should have, no matter what secrets he had been hiding.”

“Hmm.” James unwrapped the chocolate bar and took a bite. “Trust is a funny thing, you know. It doesn't come from nowhere.”

“I know, but it shouldn't have mattered, no matter what he did. When it came down to it, I had to choose between trusting him or trusting myself. My judgment of him, I mean.” Sirius sighed and accepted a piece of the chocolate. “I don't know how to explain it. I let my own worst fears control me. I should have known better. I ruined everything, really everything.”

“You didn't,” James said quietly. “It had to happen that way. It was the only way that would actually work out in the end.”

“I know it _seems_ like nothing matters now that we’re here, but it does matter. It mattered to Harry, to grow up without parents. You should have seen him when he thought he could come live with me.” Sirius swallowed. That was another way he had failed. He should never have let Peter get away. Now that Sirius was dead, he didn't feel anything like the all-consuming guilt and shame he had felt in life, but even the distant echo was very unpleasant.

“Of course I’m sorry for Harry.” James leaned his elbows on the kitchen worktable, slowly unwrapping the rest of the chocolate bar. “I would have loved to be there for him growing up. But I'm not sorry for how I died. No, listen,” he said when Sirius started to protest again. “Do you know…there were times that year that I regretted having had a baby. Sometimes I thought convincing Lily not to end the pregnancy was the most selfish thing I’d ever done. Especially those first few months when we hadn't slept for days and she was nursing so much her nipples were bleeding—actually _bleeding,_ Pads, I had no idea that could even happen! We had no idea what we were doing. And then later when the Order would send us both on missions at the same time and we had to leave Harry with you or Remus…and we would say goodbye to him and smile, but we were all thinking that we might not come back.” He sighed and stacked the squares of chocolate on the table into a tower. “There were times when I even thought that would be better, that the three of you would do a better job raising Harry without me.”

Sirius listened with his eyes downcast as a square of chocolate melted in his mouth. James had always seemed so confident in himself, so invincible. Apparently, he had been hiding just as much as Sirius himself had. They really were very much alike.

“I was full of doubt,” James continued. “I was a mess, honestly. But not that day.” His hands grew still, pressed flat against the table on either side of the pile of chocolate. “It's easy to think, when you love someone, that you would do anything for them. That you would die for them. But you don't really know, do you? Not until you come face to face with it. When he came for us that night, I had no doubts. I knew then that it was really true, I would do anything for them. I knew who I was.”

Two small drops fell onto the table between James’ hands, narrowly missing the chocolate, and Sirius looked up in surprise. He had never seen James cry before, not once. He was crying now, just quietly, just a few tears trailing down his brown cheeks, but he also gave Sirius a small smile. “It’ll sound crazy to you, but that was the best day of my life. Everyone dies, but that death…was a gift.”

They stood there for a long moment, leaning on the worktable, looking at each other. Then Sirius said, “You’re right. That does sound crazy.”

James laughed, and Sirius thought that they had finally come full circle, because he had made James laugh until he cried dozens of times during their life. It seemed fitting, now, to make him cry until he laughed as well.

“I saw it from your perspective, after,” James said once he was done. “That was awful, and I'm sorry for that. But I'm not sorry overall, so I don't see why you should be either.”

He reached out to squeeze Sirius’ hand, and Sirius nodded, although it wasn't that easy to let go of the guilt, even here. He took another piece of chocolate, considering. “What do you mean, you saw it from my perspective? I wasn't there.”

“I mean, I saw you find my body. And everything after. I’ve seen your whole life from your perspective, Sirius. Yours was one of the first I wanted to see.”

Sirius glanced at the silver fire that was still hovering above James’ left shoulder, as it had since James had first pulled it away from him. That and the snitch that fluttered around him had become such constants that Sirius hardly noticed them anymore. James had never offered to give the fire back, and Sirius hadn't asked. He would happily let James hold the essence of his life for all eternity. There hadn't been much in it that Sirius wanted to touch again. “Well, I'm sorry for that too,” he said darkly. “My life must have been an awful thing to see.”

James shook his head slowly, smiling. “That's a matter of perspective. That’s what this is all about.” He let go of Sirius’ hand to gesture broadly to the kitchen, the castle, the whole little world that they existed in now. “Perspective. Yours isn't the only life I’ve experienced. I’ve seen Lily’s and Remus’ of course. And Harry’s, my parents’, Dumbledore’s… _McGonagall’s—_ ” Here he gave Sirius a wink and a nudge that made Sirius stare. “Peter’s too.”

Sirius grimaced. “Why would you want to experience anything to do with that little traitor?”

“For the same reason I wanted to experience Bellatrix’s life, or Tom Riddle’s. To understand.”

“You’ve experienced _Voldemort’s_ life?” Sirius recoiled with horror. “That's just—that's completely fucked, James!”

“No, it isn't. Don't you wonder why people do the things they do? Why do people fall in love, or kill each other? Why do some die for their friends while others betray them? Why does _any_ of it happen? I wanted to know.”

“Well, I don’t.” Sirius shuddered. “You won't catch me trying to see things from Bellatrix’s perspective.” He couldn't even stand to imagine it, what it must be like to be so twisted, so suffused with evil. No, he wouldn't want to experience her life, or pretty much anyone else’s. He found himself watching the snitch darting around James’ head. He wouldn't mind seeing things from James’ perspective.

“You wouldn't be able to understand her life anyways. Or mine,” James added, seeing the direction of Sirius’ gaze. “You can't understand someone else’s life until you understand your own.” He straightened suddenly, sweeping the chocolate pieces into a bowl. “Come on. I've been looking forward to making these fireworks for a long time. I can wait a while longer. It’s time to do something else.”

Sirius followed him uneasily upstairs and through the long castle corridors. It went against their pattern here for James to give up on a project like this, and Sirius had a bad feeling about what the “something else” might be. He found himself watching the silver flame of his life hovering next to James’ dark-haired head as they walked, and his chest filled with dread like sloshing, icy water.

James stopped him outside the corridor that led to the Room of Requirement and made Sirius wait while he paced back and forth, eyes lowered in concentration. Once the door appeared, James beckoned him forward into the room beyond. Sirius’ stomach twisted. He couldn't help wondering if he was about to face some sort of final judgment, but the room inside was entirely nonthreatening.

The furniture was not unlike that in the Gryffindor common room, comfy red couches, a coffee table, and familiar gold lamps. The far wall was full of large windows that looked out onto the castle grounds. James must have had to concentrate hard to get those. It wasn't easy to convince the Room to conjure windows. A table near the windows was covered in a dozen types of snacks, the kind of thing they might have prepared for a long evening of prank-plotting. The only truly unusual thing in the room was a large Muggle television set with what appeared to be a tape player perched on top. A VCR machine, Sirius remembered vaguely.

“You know this?” James asked, gesturing to the tape player. He pressed a button and a tape popped out. He plopped down on the sofa and tossed a plastic remote at Sirius.

“Yeah, I guess,” Sirius said, looking down at the colored shapes that had been painted on the buttons. “Are we watching something then?” That didn't sound so bad.

“Best show there is,” James said. He reached up to his shoulder to retrieve Sirius’ fire and spread it out like he had done on that first day that Sirius had arrived here, dividing it and pushing some into the VCR tape. Sirius’ heart took a nosedive when he saw the words that appeared on the previously blank tape label.

_Sirius Black, 1959-1996._

“No, no, I don't want to do this,” Sirius said, stepping backwards nearly to the doorway in sudden panic, the first strong negative emotion he had felt since he had died. “Once was bad enough.”

“It's all right, Padfoot.” James was just sitting there on the couch, all calmness. He waved his hand and the tape floated over to the VCR and pushed itself into the slot. Sirius looked at the screen in horror, but it remained blank.

“No—I _can’t_!” His voice was breaking in a way that he would have tried to hide around anyone else.

“I’ll be right here,” James continued. “And you can pause it whenever you want. That's why I put it in one of those Muggle thingies.”

Sirius shook his head desperately. He didn't understand how James could possibly be asking this of him, especially if he had already seen the nightmare of Sirius’ life from Sirius’ perspective—and it wasn't like he needed anything that was in that fire. He still remembered his whole life. James hadn't taken that away. There was nothing to see that he didn't already know about. “You don’t understand, it’s going to be s-so awful!”

“I know,” James said sadly, and Sirius was almost startled out of his panic. He had expected James to tell him that he was overreacting and it would all be no big deal. “But it will be worth it. Trust me.”

And there it was. Those two words made everything in Sirius that was spinning out of control settle back down to the ground like dust after a windstorm. He still didn't want to do it, still felt the terror, but there was also this certainty. He did trust James, completely. He would do anything for him, even this, which would be so much harder than dying for him would have been. It had taken facing death for James to know who he was, but for Sirius, it happened right there, holding a plastic remote in a made up room in an afterlife no religion on earth had ever imagined, looking into the eyes of the man that had always understood him better than anyone else.

He knew who he was. He was a person who trusted James Potter. He had trusted James with his life, and he trusted him with his death. Once he knew that, truly knew it, in the core of himself, it wasn't so hard to walk over to the couch and sit down.

James smiled at him encouragingly. “Come ‘ere.” He slung an arm around Sirius’ shoulder and pulled him in close. Sirius fell against him, letting his head rest on James’ chest and breathing shakily through a dozen or so tears.

This was something else that was different between them now. They touched each other a lot more here. James had never acted weird about Sirius’ sexuality, but he had rarely initiated physical contact other than wrestling and manly pat-hugs while they were alive. Apparently dying had changed James too. He had grown up and left his straight-boy insecurities behind. Their physical contact was never sexual or romantic—or at least not in any way Sirius had ever understood those concepts—but it still seemed to fill some deep hole inside of him that he had never been able to make headway on while he was alive.

“It will be all right, Sirius,” James was saying. “Nothing ever happens that isn't supposed to. Especially not this.”

Sirius knew, on some level, that James was right. He wasn’t in this place just to read Shakespeare and play Quidditch. This was always something he was going to have to do, but he didn’t want it to be now. He didn’t want it to be ever. After a little while, James gently pushed him upright and put the remote back into his hand. “Come on, Pads. You have to press play.”

“I can’t,” Sirius whispered. So James wrapped his hand around Sirius’ own, positioned Sirius’ finger over the button with the little sideways triangle, and they did it together.

The screen was abruptly full of the red and loudly screaming face of Sirius’ mother, her face damp with sweat and hair askew.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Sirius swore, jumping in shock.

Beside him, James was laughing, doubled over nearly into Sirius’ lap as Walburga screamed her way through another contraction. Sirius gave James a good shove. “You fucker! You scared the shit out of me! Are we really going to start at the literal beginning?”

“Of course!” James said, wiping at his eyes.

“Fuck.” Sirius glanced at the screen with trepidation. “Can I trust you not to show me my mother’s vagina?”

James grinned. He inched behind Sirius on the couch and put his hands over Sirius’ eyes. Sirius smiled suddenly. This had happened once before, when Sirius had come home with Remus from a memorable date at The Chamber of Secrets to find a half-naked Lily crouched in the middle of their living room, screaming up a storm and pushing with all her might, labor progressing too quickly for an ambulance or even a trip through the Floo. She had yelled like a banshee when she saw them and begun spewing threats the like of which Sirius had never heard from her before, which was really saying something. Remus had probably saved Sirius’ life by putting his hands over Sirius’ eyes until Harry had been born not a minute later. Lily had caught Harry with her own hands, screaming in triumph like a war goddess—and nearly as bloody as one—and she didn’t calm down completely until James came home half an hour later, having been out of contact on a mission for the Order. Sirius had to admit that his respect for Lily had gone up significantly after that.

He could still hear Walburga screaming now, but it wasn’t so bad. Her voice was so distorted with pain that he could hardly tell it was her, although she had likely had someone to cast pain management charms for her. Indeed, Sirius could hear the voices of several other women speaking to her encouragingly. Her sounds intensified and then abruptly broke off into panting sobs.

“What’s going on?” Sirius asked.

James removed his hands, and suddenly Sirius was looking at a baby. He was small and red and wrinkly, covered in smears of red, white, and brown, just like Harry had been. The baby was awake and looking up at the face of the midwife holding him, but he was silent.

“Why doesn’t he cry?” Sirius wondered. Harry had screamed his head off from the minute he had come out, and he hadn’t stopped for nearly four months.

“Not ‘he,’ Sirius. That’s _you._ Not all babies cry when they’re born. It’s not always a sign that something is wrong.” James was watching the screen, grinning with much the same expression he had worn when he had come home that day to find Lily, Sirius, and Remus curled up together on the couch with a newborn Harry. He winced as the midwife flipped the baby Sirius over and smacked him sharply on his bare bottom. “Unfortunately, the midwife didn’t know that.”

“Thank Merlin,” the midwife murmured as the baby immediately began to scream. She smiled and cuddled him up to her chest, putting her smallest finger in his mouth to suck on and swaying back and forth with obvious expertise until the crying stopped. She said something to the other women in the room and took him into a much dimmer room off to the side where someone had prepared a warm bath. She laid him down on a towel that had been placed on the counter and started wiping at the mess on his face with a damp cloth. “Let’s get you looking presentable, then. Can’t have the heir to the House of Black looking other than his best, now, can we?”

Her tone was light and joking, but the words made Sirius cringe a bit. James squeezed his shoulder and offered him the bowl of chocolate. “Here. You’re going to need this.”

Sirius took a few pieces, although he couldn’t really see what the big deal was. The midwife hadn’t meant anything by it. In fact, she seemed quite nice. She was exceptionally gentle, and she took her time cleaning the baby. By the time she had finished, Sirius had relaxed back onto the couch and was contemplating going to get some more snacks from the table near the window. Then the midwife took him to his mother.

Walburga looked exhausted, understandably. But when she saw her newly-minted and now squeaky clean son, all she had to say was, “Ugh. It already smells. Where is that wet nurse?”

Sirius’ mouth fell open as the onscreen version of himself was bundled off into the arms of a woman whose face he didn’t even remember. When the baby began to cry a moment later, the wet nurse whisked him out of the room. Once she was out of sight of the obviously concerned midwife, the nurse said curtly, “None of that,” and cast a silencing spell. Then she put the baby, who was now wracked with silent wails, into a cradle—an ancient heirloom that Sirius actually did remember—and began arranging linens in another corner of the room.

It was unbelievably cruel. They had all nearly reached their limits those first few months of Harry’s life, when they had still been crammed into that tiny flat, even though there had been four of them working in shifts to feed, diaper, and calm a baby who seemed to like nothing more than to scream his head off. They had joked a few times about using a silencing spell, or, as James suggested after a particularly hard evening, charming him to sing drinking songs instead, but they hadn’t meant it. None of them would ever have left Harry alone to cry, without even trying to figure out what he needed.

James sighed heavily and pushed another square of chocolate into Sirius’ trembling hands. “And that’s why we had to start at the beginning. I was saying earlier that trust doesn’t come from nowhere. This is where it’s supposed to come from. They sure didn’t make it easy for you. Honestly, it’s a miracle you aren’t a total psychopath. I’ve been in your head, Sirius. I’ve seen all that bullshit you believe, about being born evil and stuff. It’s nonsense. You were born a baby, just like everyone else. Anything that went wrong after that is _their_ fault, not yours.”

Sirius didn’t know what to say to that. He couldn’t summon any words at all, but eventually, as the tape continued to play and nothing ever seemed to get better for the lonely little baby on the screen, he found plenty.

+++

That first nurse was fired after a few weeks, but her many successors were never much better. It was truly shocking how little time it took for the baby they watched to learn that his feelings meant nothing to the people around him. Crying got him nowhere, so he learned to wait in silence. He waited for his next meal or for his next contact with another person, but mostly he simply waited to get old enough to take the control he so desperately needed.

It was painful to watch, but as the child version of himself slowly grew up, Sirius surprised himself by being impressed with his own adaptability. He learned to fend for himself. He learned to get what he needed by charming those around him, at first metaphorically and then, once he got his first child’s wand, literally. He learned to create a protective covering of confidence over all the vulnerable parts of himself that no one ever wanted to see. It was depressing, but there was also something strong about it. He had done exactly what he needed to do to survive what honestly should not have been a survivable situation. He couldn't help but admire the indomitable kid on the screen, the one who ran away from his horrible nurses and tutors over and over, the one who stood defiantly in front of Regulus when the same sorts of cruelties threatened to drop on his baby brother’s head.

He was grateful, over and over, for James’ presence as they watched. Without James to laugh with him, to smile and make jokes with him, he probably would only have ever focused on the negative. He would have gotten lost in the trauma and missed all the good things in his childhood, of which there were surprisingly many. Instead of sinking into despair, he felt an unfamiliar sense of balance.

Not that that feeling came easily. James also listened when he ranted, held him when he sobbed, and sat quietly with him when he was too overcome to do even that. But in the wake of these storms came a new kind of peace. It was just like James had said. He began to understand.

They had to stop the tape many times to give Sirius a chance to do other things, but now that he had started, he couldn't stop watching for long. He found himself pulled back into the Room of Requirement over and over, like a metal filing skittering across the ground to a nearby magnet, and James would always be there, ready to watch with him.

James had made it easier for him in another way. Sirius knew that James didn't usually watch people's lives like they were doing. He _lived_ them. But he didn't ask Sirius to truly relive all the horrors of his life. He had only put half of Sirius’ fire into the tape. The events of Sirius’ life were all there, but the intensity was reduced enough that they could watch without being inundated.

Finally, they got to the part of the tape Sirius had most been looking forward to, when he started school. He and James baked a cake in the Hogwarts kitchens to celebrate and watched with delight as they finally met each other onscreen right after the sorting ceremony.

“Look at that ickle Prongslet!” Sirius said, ruffling James’ hair ferociously. “I forgot what a freaky-looking little runt you were!”

“At least _I_ didn't already have spots. At eleven!” James retorted. Sirius transformed into Padfoot the better to tackle him, and they spent the next few minutes wrestling and chasing each other around the Room of Requirement.

“Look, it’s Remus!” James said, pushing Padfoot off of him.

Sirius transformed back at once, wanting to have human eyes to see Remus with. Remus was sitting down timidly at the Gryffindor table, looking with some trepidation at the two black-haired boys who were whispering next to him. Plotting, Sirius knew, and already well on their way to being best friends thanks to the exchange of two chocolate frog cards.

“Oh my god,” Sirius whispered. It felt like it had been years since he had seen Remus, and of course, it had been even longer since he had seen him like this, young and stringy, with only half his scars. “Fuck, James. I miss him so much.”

He hadn't even realized how true it was until he saw him, but now he was consumed with it. He was glued to the screen for the rest of the evening, trying to paint this image of young Remus permanently onto his field of vision, although it was hours before they spoke to each other. He watched while he and James rather meanly waited behind the door to the dormitory for their new roommate, who had been taken to the hospital wing to meet Madam Pomfrey straight after the ceremony. When Remus arrived, they jumped out at him wearing troll masks that Sirius had clumsily transfigured from the winter hats that came with their uniforms. Neither of them was prepared for Remus’ reaction, which only made sense once you knew that this poor eleven year-old had good reason to be afraid of monsters. Remus screamed bloody murder, swung the door forcefully into their faces, and ran across the room. Once he realized he had been tricked, he collapsed into tears, then stormed over and punched James in the stomach hard enough to make him throw up his entire dinner.

It was the punch that won James over, but it was the crying that had mesmerized Sirius. He didn't know it was possible to cry like that. Remus was obviously unhappy, but he wasn’t ashamed about crying in front of them. It was as if young Sirius had recognized in some subconscious part of himself that Remus knew something he didn’t, and if he stuck around him long enough, maybe he would learn it. Also, looking back, he wondered if he hadn't been a little turned on, even then. Crying _had_ turned out to be one of his kinks.

He remembered his school years well, so there weren't as many surprises as there had been in his childhood, although the summer holidays he spent at home were still painful. But this tape James had created showed Sirius’ life from a third person perspective, so there were a few things he hadn't noticed. Like Remus checking him out, _constantly_ , starting at the beginning of third year.

“Look at that slick bastard!” Sirius said in awe, as Remus stared at him dreamily for an entire History of Magic class, while still somehow managing to take perfectly legible notes. Yet every time the teenage Sirius turned his head to include Remus in whatever prank plotting he and James were currently working on, Remus would be perfectly composed, watching Professor Bins as if that was all he had been doing the whole time. He was flawless at it.

He was also gorgeous. By the time Sirius was watching their seventh year and witnessed that steamy first and second kiss during the spin the bottle game, he thought he would go crazy from anticipation. James had to fight him for the remote to keep him from speeding the tape forward.

“We’re not here just to watch you and Remus shag!” he said. “You waited for him once, you can do it again.”

“But that was before I knew for sure how ridiculously hot it was going to be,” Sirius complained, flopping back onto the couch.

“I don't care. I'm not letting you skip whole months just because you can't wait to see yourself blow him.”

“I'm about to do a whole lot more than that,” Sirius grumbled, but he let James set the pace. By the time it finally happened, he was a useless, jittery thing, absolutely consumed with lust _._ He watched, squirming, as a towel-clad Remus approached the Sirius on the screen from behind with the most fantastic expression of sneaky anticipation on his face.

“Sweet fucking Merlin, finally. Now get out,” Sirius said to James, grabbing the remote and pressing the pause button.

James’ jaw dropped. “Are you kidding me! I’ve been waiting for this too, you know!”

“Like fuck you have. Out!”

James stood up, but he put his hands on his hips and showed no particular signs of leaving. “I was _there_ , you dolt, right on the other side of that bedroom wall, listening to all the stupidly loud noises you two are about to make, _and_ _also_ I have already experienced this whole thing from your perspective! You don't have any secrets from me anymore, Padfoot.”

“Oh gods, please don't remind me. Even I'm not that much of an exhibitionist.”

“Yes, you are. Don't forget, I just watched you fuck a trussed up Sasha Patil in front of a club full of people.”

“That’s different,” Sirius insisted, although of course, James was right. This was hardly the first sex scene they had watched, and they had managed to just snicker and eat popcorn so far. But there was basically no universe in which Sirius was going to watch himself and Remus shag without wanking to it, and there was also no universe in which he would do so in front of James. Everyone had their limits.

“I don't care if you wank, you know.” James knew him far, far too well. “Could even lend a hand.”

He delivered this line with exactly the right amount of lowered eyelids and tilted chin, but Sirius saw right through him, as always. He laughed and threw a pillow at James’ head, a perfect headshot that knocked his glasses clean off. “Get _out_ , you straight motherfucker! You’d sooner wank Dumbledore himself, and we both know it!”

James’ look of perfect sexual solicitation cracked into laughter when the pillow hit him, and he relented at last. He sauntered towards the door, waving his wand to summon his glasses back into his hand. “All right, but don't fool yourself that I don't already know it all. Including what you two did to my poor broomstick on your nineteenth birthday.”

“Shit,” Sirius muttered, eyes widening as he suddenly remembered too.

“Shit is right. And I've had a long time to plot my very excellent revenge. I'm just waiting until you’re both here to experience the horrors I have in store. Think about _that_ while you’re polishing your littlest wand.”

Once he had left, Sirius cast a half-dozen different locking charms on the door, just in case James should decide to give him a preview of that revenge, which he had to admit he probably deserved. Although it wasn't his fault that James’ broomstick had happened to be the nicest, springiest piece of well-smoothed wood in their flat at the time.

Sirius pulled off his shirt and grabbed his wand, because he had every intention of doing this properly, and that's when he saw it. There was a scar on his stomach, right above his navel. It was the one he had gotten when a curse had clipped him on his first big-kid mission for the Order. It was familiar, but it also hadn't been there before, not here. Ever since he had died and shown up here, his body had been entirely true to the seventeen year-old version of himself, which meant no scars from the war, no emaciation he couldn't shake off from Azkaban, none of it. But something had changed, and it wasn't just that one scar. His whole body was far more fit than he had been at seventeen in school. He had the toned arms and torso forced on him by the grueling Auror training the Order had made him endure. There were also a few smaller marks, scars from other missions or full moon mishaps, and a burn mark on his index finger from a failed experiment in Muggle cooking. He looked like…

He raised his eyes to the paused television screen, where his own shirtless self was staring morosely into his dresser drawer, not yet aware of Remus sneaking up on him. He looked like the _that_ Sirius, the Sirius on the screen. Somehow, his body had started to grow with his memories.

He ran his fingers over the raised line of the scar. He and James had just watched the memory of him receiving it. He had hated this scar. He had seen it as a writ of sale, the first tangible proof that his life didn't belong to him anymore. He belonged to the Order. He was theirs to use, to injure, and, eventually, to throw away.

He didn't feel that way about it anymore, though. He was still angry at the Order, but he saw now that this was just a mark. It didn't have to bear the brunt of his resentment. On the contrary, it was a part of himself and not to be shunned or despised. It was literally his skin, and he realized as he slid his palm over it that he had missed it.

It didn't bode well for what would happen to his body as he watched the rest of the tape, but that was something to talk to James about later. For now, he slid his hand down lower and reached for the remote.

+++

Watching his childhood had cleared up a lot in Sirius’ mind. He understood now what the Black hole he had always felt lurking inside him was. It was just a symptom of a problem, an adaptation to abuse, not an indelible part of his personhood. The whole thing seemed much less frightening now, so he thought he would be ready to see what Dumbledore and McGonagall had seen when they had looked through the _almatheometer_. He was wrong.

“What _is_ that?” he asked James.

James gave him a sad smile. “You don’t recognize it? I guess most people wouldn't. It’s, you know, your soul.”

Sirius had always thought a soul would look like the ghost of someone, or perhaps an ethereal cloud like people said auras were supposed to look like. This was more like a shell made of glass, as brilliantly faceted as a cut gemstone. It was the same silver as the fire of his life and was large enough to encase his entire body with room to spare. It was beautiful. He would never have guessed that his twisted, traumatized soul could look like that. It took his breath away. It was so lovely that at first Sirius didn't understand James’ grieving tone. Then he saw that the crystalline structure wasn’t as perfect as its sparkling facets made it look. There was a jagged, asymmetrical slice missing from his left side as if the jeweler’s chisel had slipped in carving. The negative space left his wand hand and part of his shoulder exposed.

What was a soul? A divine gift, a piece of magic shared with the rest of humanity, the residue of years of memories? Sirius had died, dispersed, and reformed in the afterlife, and yet he still didn't know. But he did know that having any part of his body exposed, devoid of that protective covering, was deeply wrong. Knowing what he did now about Voldemort and Horcruxes, he also understood that no amount of childhood trauma or neglect could have done this. He had done it to himself, when he had killed Maeve Foley. As usual, he was his own worst enemy.

“But on their orders, Sirius,” James insisted when Sirius said something to this effect. He was very good at turning around Sirius’ occasional descents back into the agony of self-blame. “They knew what they were doing. They suspected what it would do to you, and they ordered it anyways. It’s not your fault. You were just trying to protect us.”

And that was only the first time. He had done it again, and again… Each time, a little more of his soul had been sliced away. By the final murder, only a day before James himself had been killed, Sirius’ soul was nearly unrecognizable. It was so small that nearly all of his body was exposed. It was a mere sliver at the core of himself, brittle and dangerous, like a razor-sharp icicle. They had made him into a weapon. He shuddered to think what would have happened if he had succeeded in killing Peter or anyone else. There would have been nothing left, and then what? Would he have, as Dumbledore put it, _dispersed_ , along with that final fragment? He didn't know. They hadn't either, obviously. That's why Dumbledore had let him walk out of the office that day like it was just another mission completed. They had wanted to see what would happen, and they were willing to use him to do it. Dumbledore had always been a _greater good_ kind of person.

Dumbledore hadn't ever explained the purpose of it all, aside from the obvious, that those Death Eaters were too dangerous to live. Sirius still didn't have a problem with that aspect of it—on the contrary, he had surely saved many innocent lives—but if Dumbledore had only been up-front with him…maybe they would have been able to find a way to actually capture the pieces of his soul as they dispersed, to be restored at a later date. Most of what he knew about soul-splitting came from what Remus had told him after Azkaban, information which he only now realized may have come from what Dumbledore had learned by observing Sirius himself, although of course, Remus must not have known that.

Later, Sirius sat in the rubble of Dumbledore’s office, which he had just finished smashing up for the fourth time, holding the _almatheometer_ up in front of a mirror. He spent a long time just sitting there, looking through the wide lens of the instrument at the now-restored crystalline structure that surrounded him.

“I would have found you, no matter what. You were never truly lost,” James had said as they watched the final murder and the horrific events that followed, but he was wrong. Sirius had spent half his life lost, and everyone he loved had suffered because of it.

The remainder of the tape was a lonely record of those lost years. They sped through most of them. There was little to be gained by watching himself stare endlessly out of the tiny window of his cell in Azkaban, except even more emphasis on the waste of it all.

As they watched, Sirius grew thinner, more scarred, older. But it didn’t frighten or disgust him as it had the first time around. He had more faith in his resilience now. He wasn't keen on spending the rest of eternity looking the way he had when he had died, but he hoped that once this was done, he would be able to choose which version of himself to look like. He wasn’t sure which version of himself that would be.

It was almost done now. The last few months were the struggle of Grimmauld Place, which he had spent mostly alone, trying to stay sane with no purpose to occupy him and not even the possibility of reaching out to Remus for comfort.

“Do you know how Harry defeated Voldemort in his first year?” James asked. They were curled up together on the couch, watching Sirius flinch away from the pain of Remus’ touch for the hundredth time. “Riddle couldn't touch him. There was too much love in him.”

Abruptly understanding, Sirius had to pause the tape and turn his face away from the screen, into the solid comfort of James’ chest. He hadn’t understood until now why it had only ever been Remus that he couldn’t touch. It was horrific to think that he had had something in common with the most evil wizard ever known, but mostly he felt grief. So much had been taken from him, even when he thought there was nothing left to take. But, as usual, understanding brought a sense of resolution, as if his life had been a spiral drawn haphazardly on a sheet of parchment, and James was helping him draw the final line, completing the circle.

At last, they came to the end. There was a flash of light, a flutter of curtain, and the tape popped out of the player. Sirius was sitting on the couch with James on the floor lounging against his legs. James took one last swig of his Butterbeer and set the empty bottle on the floor.

“All done,” he said, turning his head to look up at Sirius.

“Yeah.” Sirius sighed out, feeling again that strange sense of balance.

James beckoned, and the silver fire of Sirius’ life emerged from the tape. Now lifeless, the tape dropped to the ground, and the fire floated across the room towards them, crossing paths with James’ snitch on the way. James held the fire cupped in his hands and turned around, kneeling, to face Sirius. “Do you want it?”

It looked much smaller and friendlier than it had before, and not only because James still had the other half of it on his shoulder. Sirius’ life hadn't held any fewer horrors than he had thought it would—in fact, there had been many he hadn't expected—but there had also been a lot more enjoyable memories than he had expected to see. And he had kept going regardless. From those first lonely days up until the untimely death, he had kept sticking up for his friends, kept trying to be a good person. He had kept trying to love people. He had always admired that quality about Harry and James and Remus, but he hadn’t realized it had been part of himself as well.

He felt that love rising up inside him now, filling him to the brim, making him strong. When he held out his hands and the flame came floating over to them, bringing the intensity of his life’s memories with it, he wasn't afraid.

The flame hovered over his cupped hands, and its energy surged into him, erasing the comfortable and necessary distance James had given him. All the pain and joy and terror and quiet afternoons sleeping with Remus in the square of sunlight that shone through the bedroom window of their flat—it all came flooding into him at once, but it wasn't too much. He was the perfect vessel. He owned the story of his life now, from beginning to—

Sirius startled, accidentally kicking James’ empty Butterbeer bottle and sending it spinning across the floor. There was no end.

As soon as he let the fire come back into his possession, it was perfectly clear. He held all of the events of his life in his hands now, and each one was perfectly whole. There was no dilution, as he had assumed there would be, since James still appeared to have half Sirius’ silver fire hovering above his shoulder. These events were complete, yet if the fire in Sirius’ hands was the story of his life, then there was still a part of it missing. The _depth_ of his life was here, but the _breadth_ was not. The resolution he had expected to feel—the ending that was his death—was only another page, not an ending at all. It was like someone had ripped a book down the center of its spine and handed him one half. There was no back cover, no closure. There were loose plot threads hanging everywhere. The rest was—Sirius looked up at the fire hovering above James’ shoulder—the rest was _there_. Waiting to happen.

“Oh,” he said weakly.

James was beaming. “Now you understand.”

Sirius inhaled, felt his heart beating. As soon as he wanted it, the rest of his life began to rush towards him, the all-powerful force of his future yearning to be reunited with his present—but James held up his hand. The silver fire froze in place near James’ shoulder, and Sirius jerked like a dog brought to the end of his leash.

“James, what—” Sirius’ hand was up, reaching in vain as James avoided him. “Don’t, I want it back! I’m _ready—_ ”

It had never occurred to him before a few moments ago that this place was anything other than permanent. He hadn't wanted it to be anything other than that, but now he suddenly wanted to live so desperately he felt the pull in every fiber of his being. He had so much more to do, so much more to say. He was going to go _back._ He would see Remus again, hold him, kiss him properly like he hadn't done in so, so long. He would run through the streets of London as Padfoot, travel wherever he wanted, grow things, meet people, actually be a godfather to Harry this time instead of a pathetic ghost of a person. He would never again accept a prison, not for his mind or body. _Live,_ he thought frantically as he scrambled closer to the fire, he was going to _live._

The fire was listening, straining forward through James’ fingers. James wouldn't be able to hold it much longer. “You _are_ ready,” James confirmed. “But hang on, just a bit. There's someone who wants to see you, and I've learned to never say no to her unless I want to experience a creative curse up close and personal.”

There was only one person that could refer to, and the thought of her made Sirius grin. “Lily!”

As if her name had been a cue, the world around him—the Room of Requirement, Hogwarts, James, all of it—dissolved into white mist, and Sirius landed, alone, in a garden in Godric’s Hollow that he hadn’t seen since he was twenty-two.

It looked very different than it had then. The cottage had been vacant before James and Lily had moved in, and the garden had been bare dirt and half-dead primroses. Now it looked like it had been taken care of for decades—lush but not quite tidy. Sirius could see Lily’s hand in the wildness of it, in the way the vines had been allowed to creep into the path and the way magical plants had been whimsically placed in the shadows of flowering bushes.

He could feel the softness of the grassy earth under his bare feet and smell the primroses blooming. This place was just as real as Hogwarts had been. More so, he realized, as to his astonishment, a small bird flew past him close enough that he felt the movement of air on his face. He turned to follow the bird’s flight like a compass needle turning towards north, mouth open in wonder. He hadn't seen a single living thing aside from himself and James since he had died.

The bird landed in the nearby apple tree, where there was another of its kind waiting. Sirius spent several long minutes watching them hop from branch to branch, listening to them chatter to one another, taking in the details of their dusty brown feathers and their bright black eyes. Then he looked beyond them, through the open archway in the stone wall, out at the village of Godric’s Hollow. Spread out before him was house after house, some with chimneys puffing smoke into the early evening air, dogs running in yards, and cats lounging in windows. This place was much more alive than the stagnant castle he had just spent so long in. He felt like he could spend a whole lifetime just watching it.

When he finally came back to himself, he realized he was still holding the silver fire of his already-lived lifetime cupped in his hands. He gently placed it up near his shoulder, the way James always did, and flicked his fingers to give it the appearance of an empty Butterbeer bottle. He liked the good memories it represented and also the symbolism of it. Where before he might have thought of it as hollow, lifeless, an ending, now he saw only the encouraging potential of something about to be filled. Ready, he was ready.

He turned to face the little stone cottage. The vines climbing over the walls and roof were healthy and flowering, and there was a flutter of curtains at the open windows, a glowing of lights from within. Sirius stepped up to the door and raised his hand to knock, then he remembered where he was—James’ home, which had always been nearly synonymous with his own home—and just opened the door.

The little living room inside was more nicely furnished than it had been in life. It was empty, but there were voices coming from the dining room beyond. It was there that Sirius found James and Lily. They appeared to be tidying up after a large dinner party. James was sitting in a dining chair, balancing it precariously on the back two legs, nursing a glass of wine and looking for all the world as if he had been there for hours. He was waving his wand in a lazy way, sending stacks of dirty dishes into the kitchen. Lily was collecting silverware in her hands, Muggle-style, but she dropped it all back onto the table once she saw Sirius. A moment later, she was hugging him. He wrapped his arms around her a bit hesitantly, taking in the feel of her with surprise. Her body fit against him in a very different way from James’, and it forced him to recognize that it really had been a long time since he had been around anyone else. His vision was filled with the color of her hair, and it seemed to him the brightest thing he had ever seen. There was also a flicker of green. It was the fire of her life, a cheery little flame the same color as her eyes. It was hovering near her shoulder, burning without heat, tickling the underside of his chin.

“There you are!” she was saying. “You took so long to come in!”

“I was watching the birds,” Sirius explained.

She let go at last and beamed up at him. “Aren’t they lovely? James got them for me.”

“There’s a butterfly too, but it's probably sleeping right now,” James said. “They’re hard to catch, especially if you didn't know them in life. Their souls are so tiny, they tend to just—poof! But I'm not the second-best Seeker to ever play at Hogwarts for nothing.”

“Second-best?” Sirius asked. That was an uncharacteristically modest statement for someone like James.

“Harry!” James’ whole face lit up, and he let his chair fall flat to the floor with a clunk. “Didya know he got on the team in his _first year?_ And he’d never even been on a broom! He was _just_ _that good._ ”

“I did know that.” Sirius grinned. “And you know I know, so stop bragging.”

“Yeah, you got him that Firebolt.” James raised his glass as if for a toast. “Thanks for that. Exactly what I would have done. The best Seeker needs the best broom.”

Sirius wondered what kind of broom Harry had now, if there would be any opportunity to gift him with the latest model. He was determined to do right by Harry this time, and not just in the department of extravagant gifts. James and Lily were clearly here in the afterlife to stay, and Harry needed someone to be his family. First, he would make sure Harry was never again let alone with those horrible relatives of Lily’s. No protection spell was worth the way they had been treating him, and Sirius was long past worrying about what Dumbledore would say. Sirius would get a place in London for the three of them—because of course, Remus would be there too—then they’d buckle down to the task of figuring out how to defeat Voldemort. In the meantime and after, he’d teach Harry how to ride the motorbike, ace transfiguration, roll a joint, pull girls…

He was almost a whole minute into imagining the many glorious forms his future life would take when James cleared his throat, and Sirius realized with a start that he had been staring fixedly at the silver fire by James’ shoulder. James had put a hand up to stop it from rushing back towards him again.

“You’d better say your piece,” James told Lily, “or this one’s gonna pop back into the world of the living like a bloody phoenix.”

“Sorry,” Sirius said, flushing a little. “It _is_ good to see you, Lils.”

“It’s fine. James, why don't you go frolic in the yard for a few minutes, and I’ll—” she glanced over her shoulder and rolled her eyes when she was confronted with a large stag, who had manifested in such a way that the chair underneath him was immediately broken into splinters. “Not _inside,_ you idiot!”

She might have lectured more, but by then the stag had lunged forward to lick her face. His antlers sent the hanging light fixture over the table careening around on its chain. Lily squealed, trying to lean away, but James had already transformed back into a human, and he took advantage of her open mouth to kiss her. Sirius watched skeptically, not able to see significant differences between James’ technique as a stag and a man.

“Yep, that’s gross,” Sirius said. “How can you still be so bad at snogging after seeing all of my deliciously pornographic memories?”

Lily pushed James away, gagging a bit. “ _Thank_ you, Sirius, now we’re all grossed out.” She swatted James’ arm. “Now get out, or you’ll end up playing tug-of-war with that fire again, and he won't hear a thing I’ve got to say.”

“See ya.” James strolled out, flippantly waving his wand to repair the splintered chair as he went. The silver fire went with him, and Sirius couldn't help watching it wistfully until James was out of sight. He felt like a dog with a treat balanced on his nose, being told to wait for reasons he couldn't quite grasp with the smell of food in his head.

“Come on, love,” Lily dumped the dirty silverware into his hands and led him into the kitchen. “Let’s wash these dishes. No, not like that. Use your hands,” she corrected when Sirius drew his wand.

“What? Why?” Sirius watched uneasily as she plugged the sink and began to let it fill with soapy water.

“Because you listen better when you’ve got something to keep your hands busy.” She swung herself up to sit on the counter next to the sink, apparently with no intention of helping. “Go on, and don't you dare splash me.”

Sirius groaned. “I get it now. Hogwarts with James was heaven, and this is hell.”

“You haven't even heard what I'm about to say yet.”

“So say it.” He pulled out a piece of silverware and rubbed it inexpertly with a sponge _._ Pie crust flaked off and dissolved into the water below. Pie. They'd been having a party with pie. He hadn't even gotten to eat any himself, yet he was the one washing up. He glanced around the kitchen in hopes of finding an extra slice, but he was not so lucky.

Lily was quiet for nearly ten pieces of silverware, and Sirius was just considering splashing her on purpose when she said, rather abruptly, “We never would have joined the Order if you hadn’t already done it.”

Sirius dropped a spoon, and the water thrown into the air in its wake splashed the front of his robes. “What?”

“James and I had already made plans. We were worried about where the country was headed, and he was especially afraid for me. We were going to go live with his aunt and uncle in Jaipur, and we were going to bring the rest of you with us. But then you swore yourself to the Order, so we decided to stay. Nothing that happened afterwards would have happened if you had only talked to us.”

“Fuck, Lily, that’s a hell of a thing to say.” Sirius’ voice was an unhealthy croak, the way he had sounded right after he’d broken out of Azkaban. “ _Express owl to Gringotts._ ” Those had been the words, spoken to the postmaster as he had handed over a stolen Knut and a letter written with a stolen quill on stolen paper. Then he had hidden behind a dumpster until the owl had returned with a withdrawal large enough to give him a head start on his run, and the whole time his brain had been running in an endless loop of sickening guilt and overpowering bloodlust.

Here and now, he trembled, staring down into the dirty dishwater. The scent of fruit pie and corned beef mingled together unpleasantly in his nose. He thought he might throw up. “I was—I was trying to save us,” he whispered. “I thought James and Remus would join for sure and then…”

“I know,” Lily said softly. “I've experienced your life too. I know why you did it. It made sense from your perspective, but I lost my chance to be a mother to Harry because of it. If there was one thing I could undo, it would be that. I would have changed that part, long before the stuff with Peter and the Fidelius charm. I think you feel the same way. I think that’s why you showed up here at the age you did. Seventeen…right before you joined the Order.”

Sirius was shaking, shaking, and his eyes were wet. Guilt was condensing around him again, like a swarm of insects landing on his skin. They wanted to eat him up, bite by bite, but he wasn't the same person he had been. There was something more resilient underneath his skin now, and he found himself taking deep breaths. He found his center again, and there was a touch of anger waiting for him there. “Come on, Lily, what gives? James has spent this whole time trying to convince me it was all my parents or Dumbledore or whoever to blame, and here you are telling me everything is my fault after all. I only did what—I didn't have a choice!”

“But you _did_.” Lily leaned down, putting her face right in front of his eyes. “James loves you too much to tell you everything you need to hear. Maybe your parents wrote the prophecy of your life, but it was _you_ that fulfilled it. You are responsible for your life, your choices.”

Sirius looked down, avoiding her eyes—Harry’s eyes. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to accept the responsibility she was shoving at him without collapsing under its weight, and he was fed up with living under any kind of burden.

Lily sighed and hopped off the counter. She stood next to him at the sink and took the sponge and one of the plates from his hand. “Don’t you see, Sirius? There are two sides to this coin.” She scrubbed the blank white back of the plate and then flipped it over to show him the side with the pattern on it—little birds woven with flowers, cavorting around the rim. They were the plates the Potters had given Lily and James as wedding presents. “You are responsible for your mistakes, but that also means you have the freedom to make them. I don’t agree with James that everything just happens the way it’s supposed to. We make our own choices. Even that day, when you thought you had no other choice, you did. They might not always be easy choices, but they are yours to make. Not your parents’, not Dumbledore’s, _yours._ You can’t ever really be forced into anything. _You_ control your destiny. Now do you understand?”

“I think so,” Sirius said slowly. He accepted the sponge from her when she pushed it at him and started washing again. She stood next to him, not talking anymore, but touching him companionably at the shoulder and hip. She wandered off after a little while, leaving him with the tall stack of dirty dishes to deal with on his own, but he didn’t mind so much anymore. She was right. It was easier to think when he had something to do.

It would be lovely, he thought, if all his mistakes were as easy to wash away as the food on these plates. He had made so many mistakes. He probably wasn’t even done, although he was determined to do better. At least he wasn’t afraid to try anymore. He felt an odd moment of vertigo, as if he had suddenly grown taller without realizing it.

Eventually, he reached the bottom of the stack, and there was nothing left except a pile of clean plates and a sink full of dirty water. He pulled the plug and watched the water spiral down the drain until the sink was as empty as the Butterbeer bottle hovering by his left ear. It was ready for its next task, and so was he.

When he turned around, they were both there. James was standing behind Lily, chin on her shoulder and arms wrapped around her waist. Apparently, they had been there for a while, watching him. Sirius rolled his eyes. “You two are creepy, you know that?”

“That’s a matter of perspective,” James said with annoying superiority. “Nice to see Lily taught you to wash dishes. Remus will be pleased.”

The sound of Remus’ name made Sirius’ eyes snap over to the silver fire again, and James laughed. He caught Sirius’ hand and led him and Lily outside into the garden. Night had fallen and the stars were out. One star, to the south, was shining with particular brilliance.

“Nice touch,” Sirius said.

“I’m a details man.” James let go of his hand and the three of them stood there for a moment, looking up at the sky. “Well. You ready?”

Sirius shivered. “I am _extremely_ ready. Will I remember all this, you think?”

“That’s a good question, Pads.” James turned to look at him. His glasses flashed briefly with a reflection of the infinite stars above them. “I think so. I’ve seen a lot of people’s lives, a lot more even than I told you about. Some things are…universal. I think people could use a bit more hope. Lily?”

Lily nodded her agreement. “Tell them whatever you want, Sirius.” Then she stepped forward threateningly, drawing her wand as she did so. “And you’re going to take care of my son, understand? Or I will eviscerate you. Repeatedly. I can do that here, you know. There’s a reason some people call it hell.”

Sirius smiled, for once not intimidated by her threats. “I was going to do that anyways.”

She hugged him. This time Sirius was more ready for it, and he hugged her back. She started to loosen her grip after a minute, but he found himself clutching her, not ready to let go. “Lily? I—I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s all right, Sirius. I forgave you a long time ago.” She pushed out of his arms and smiled up at him, and he was left a little in awe at how easily she said it. Whether she was threatening to maim him or forgiving him, she was always so straightforward, authentic in what she felt and unafraid to show it. Perhaps that was what had endeared her to James in the first place.

“All right, enough of that,” James said, tugging Sirius away for a one-armed hug of his own, which he finished off, rather shockingly, with a kiss to Sirius’ cheek. “Time for mysterious messages from beyond.”

“Huh?” Sirius said.

Lily rolled her eyes. “Sirius, please tell Harry for me…” She paused, looking away out into the garden, and when she spoke again her voice was much softer. “Tell him I love him more than anything, and I’m so proud of the person he has become. Tell him…no matter what happens, he will never be alone.”

She turned back towards him, somehow managing to glare even as she was blinking away tears. “You got that, Black?”

“Yeah,” Sirius said. “I’ll tell him. What about you, Prongs?”

James grinned in a lazy, sideways way. “What she said. And tell him I think Aetherius is a great name.”

“For what, an owl?” Sirius asked. “Doesn’t he already have one?”

“No, idiot, for a baby!” James laughed and reached up to his shoulder for Sirius’ fire.

“A _baby?_ ” Sirius exclaimed. “Whose baby? Wait—what the fuck—how long has it been?” He leaned away from the fire as James brought it closer, suddenly nervous, but James only laughed harder.

“Don’t worry, Sirius!” James said. “You’ll be just in time.”

And with that he lunged forward, shoving the silver fire into Sirius’ forehead, catapulting him out and away, back, back, back into life.


	6. Sunshine

_I saw the world unto the world_  
_It asked me back again_  
_Calls me love, holds me tight_  
_It peels off these ties that bind me_  
_I don't need a thing to remind me9_  
_That I'm part of the world_  
_I saw the light_  
_And I felt all creamed, all in white_  
_I felt so permanently loved_  
-I Saw the Light, by Spoon

The Death Chamber in the Department of Mysteries looked just like Sirius remembered except it was completely empty of people, and instead of the sizzle of curses ricocheting around the room, there was only a thick, eerie silence. The rows of stone benches loomed around him like the craggy walls of a glacier. This room had been built to intimidate, that was clear, but he wasn't feeling it. He was alive, actually _alive_ , and it was going to take a lot more than some hunks of stone to bring him down.

“I’m alive. A-fucking-live,” he said aloud, to show how unimpressed he was with the atmosphere. “So. What next?”

“Well, no spoilers but…”

Sirius jumped and whirled around at the sound of James’ voice ringing out through the chamber as clearly as if he was standing right at Sirius’ shoulder, but the only thing there was the stone archway with its rippling curtain. James must be talking to him from the other side.

He waited for the rest of James’ sentence. And waited and waited…finally, there was an explosion of smug, Prongs-y laughter and the clear sound of Lily’s long suffering-sigh. Sirius rolled his eyes. Obviously, James had no intention of telling him anything even remotely useful.

“Hyper-omniscience doesn't suit you.” Sirius shook his head and turned away from the curtain. “Wanker.”

“Have fun, Pads!” James called as Sirius began walking towards the door. “See you on the B side!”

Sirius raised his hand in acknowledgement but didn't respond since he had already opened the door. There would surely be Aurors lurking about, which might not be a huge problem if he ran into the right ones, the few who knew he was not actually a criminal, but then again, if it had been as long as James’ comment about a baby—sweet fucking Merlin, a _baby_ —implied, then it was probably best not to run into anyone at all. They might never let him leave. He didn't fancy having a room in the Department of Mysteries dedicated to the mystery of him having been raised from the dead.

Surprisingly, there didn't seem to be anyone about. He made his way to the elevator and pressed the button for the atrium. On the way up he cast a notice-me-not charm, hoping it would be enough to let him walk out without being stopped, but he had always been pants at those. Unobtrusiveness was not really his specialty.

The elevator doors opened, and he peered out cautiously. To his relief, the entry hall was nearly empty. It must be after-hours. But there was one person there, standing facing the receptionist’s desk and sorting through some official-looking folders. Sirius cursed under his breath when he realized who it was. There was really only one bald six-foot-plus black man who might be hanging around the Ministry atrium in an Auror uniform.

But there was nothing for it. The elevator doors had dinged as they opened, so he only had a second or so before Kingsley Shacklebolt turned around to see who else was at the Ministry so late. Sirius sucked up his courage and walked confidently towards the doors on the far side of the room. He saw Shacklebolt’s head turn just as he was passing, not quickly enough to see his face, but he had definitely been noticed.

“Evenin’ Shacklebolt,” he mumbled, trying to imitate the voice and tone of a bored, sleepy Ministry official, but it was a long shot. He was wearing the same robes he had died in—wasn't that a strange thought—which probably had smears of hippogriff manure on the hem, and Kingsley was exactly the kind of Auror who would have memorized the dress habits, hours, and speech patterns of every employee in the bloody Ministry up to and including the cleaning staff.

Sure enough, he had only gone another three steps before Shacklebolt called out after him. “Who are you? Clearance codes please!”

Sirius waved a hand casually in the air without turning. He was almost to the door. “It’s late, Kingsley.”

“Clearance, now!” Shacklebolt shouted.

Sirius made a break for it. He dodged instinctively, and a stunning spell hit the wall right where his chest had been. He rolled down to the ground, knocking over a stand of newspapers in the process—one of which he swiped for later reference—and drew his wand just in time to blast open the front doors. It only took one more breath and one more dodged spell, and then he was free.

He scrambled to his feet and immediately Apparated to the alley of a diner he and Remus used to go to, then ran a block and Apparated again. He repeated this process until he was too dizzy to continue, rolling through every London Apparition point he could remember and running in a random direction each time to help throw off the trace. It was a trick they had been taught at Auror Academy, and it was pretty reliable as long as the pursuer didn't have scrying equipment on them, which was unlikely in this case. Shacklebolt was good, but he was no Moody.

After the last apparition he could handle, he jumped up to catch the bottom rung of a fire escape ladder and leaned over the railing, breathing hard, to see if Shacklebolt was going to catch up or not. The minutes ticked by. His heartbeat was taking its time slowing down. He wasn't as fit as he had been back during the war, nowhere near it, but he hardly cared. The adrenaline rush was absolutely amazing. He should consider making running from the law a permanent part of his lifestyle. Finally he laughed at the empty street, more than a little bit high on life.

“The _infamous_ Sirius Black,” he proclaimed to the nearby buildings. “They never did catch him!”

He climbed the rest of the way up the fire escape to the roof, still laughing sporadically and clutching a sudden stitch in his side. He settled down in the corner with the least snow, cast a warming bubble, and settled in to read the copy of the Daily Prophet he had snatched during his escape.

It was 1998.

That wasn't as bad as he had feared, only two years gone. Two and a half, since it was not only winter, it was December 24th, assuming this was today’s paper and not yesterday’s. Christmas fucking Eve.

What a stunt this would be, waltzing back into Remus’ life on Christmas! Sirius grinned at the thought. He should get himself a bloody bow.

“Thank you, Prongs!” he shouted up towards the sky. “I owe you one!”

Of course, in order for that idea to work, he would have to be able to actually _find_ Remus, which he suddenly realized would be no easy task. Remus had traveled the world while Sirius had been in Azkaban, never staying in one place more than a couple months. He could be anywhere.

Harry would probably be easier to track down. He had less reason to roam and, besides, he was The Boy Who Lived, and Sirius was holding a newspaper. He probably had the answer in his hands already.

It took him a while to find what he was looking for. He had to go all the way to the back pages, and along the way it became clear to him that the war was over. The paper was all parliament measures, goblin politics, and recipes for Christmas roast. There were updates on legal cases for alleged Death Eaters that were still making their way through the system, but that was it. So, one way or another, Voldemort had been defeated. Sirius had missed it. He wasn't sorry. He had been done with war a long time ago.

Eventually, he found a short article in the Life & Style section that said Harry had just returned to the country this week. He had been on a _honeymoon_ , so Sirius had obviously missed more than just the end of the war. He didn't know Ginevra too well, but she was a Weasley, so she was probably all right. Trust Harry to go after a redhead though.

Unfortunately, the article didn't say specifically where Harry was living now, not even if he was in London itself. Sirius knew he could ask at the Burrow, since the Weasleys were sure to know where their own daughter was, but he wasn't keen on having Arthur or Molly Weasley be the first person to see his miraculous self. That wasn't the kind of dramatic grand reveal he was hoping for.

He was considering breaking into some Diagon Alley shop to steal scrying equipment when he realized he already had a much simpler solution in his pocket. He grinned and pulled out the little handheld mirror he had apparently had on him when he had died. He had given Harry the matching mirror, and there was no way in hell someone as sentimental as Harry would have gotten rid of it. He wouldn't be surprised if Harry had it on him right now.

He took a minute to finger-comb his hair, wincing at the tangles and uneven ends. He had really let himself go those last few months at Grimmauld Place. He was also unshaven, but he had never minded a bit of stubble.

The warming bubble was starting to cool down, so he shook off any remaining hesitation, held up the mirror, and whispered, “Harry Potter.”

The mirror shifted enough to show him that the connection had been made, but it was too dark to see anything. Sirius left the warming bubble and stood under one of the rooftop’s security lamps, letting the light from this side shine through to wherever Harry was.

Harry’s mirror appeared to be in a desk drawer. Sirius could see the edges of quills and other post-school debris. He sighed in frustration. He would have to shout until someone opened the drawer, and he would have preferred to find out where Harry was and show up in person before revealing himself. He had already opened his mouth to call out when he saw something he recognized.

It was a little five-pointed star inside a circle, a supposedly Satanic symbol he had been in the habit of doodling when he was a kid, mostly because it pissed off his mother. He distinctly remembered carving it on the inside edge of his desk drawer to pass the time during one of the many times she had locked him in his room.

The mirror was in his childhood desk at Grimmauld Place, so in all likelihood Harry was there too. Sirius had left everything to Harry in his will, including Grimmauld Place, but he had never imagined Harry would _live_ in that mausoleum. He had intended for it to be sold, but perhaps Harry still found it useful to live in a Secret-kept, Unplottable location. Either way, that was where Sirius would have to go. He wanted to see Harry more than almost anything, and Harry might know where Remus was as well.

Sirius shook off the snow that had gathered on his shoulders, cast a cleaning charm on his robes, and Apparated to the street outside his family home. Number 12 unfurled in front of him just like he had expected it to. He hesitated at the door for a moment, wondering if the charms would remember him properly, considering he had died and all, but the knob turned without issue, and he stepped inside.

It wasn't quite as ghastly as he had remembered. Someone had given cleaning it up another go, and the rotting tapestries and curtains had been replaced. Someone was obviously living here, but he got the feeling the house—which, like most old magical houses, had a mind of its own—hadn't fully accepted the change of ownership. It hadn't liked him either. He had tried to improve the ragged wallpaper and other horrid decorations with transfiguration during the long hours he had been cooped up here, with zero success. The house had rejected all his changes—out of spite, he assumed. It wouldn't even let him strip the walls manually. He would come back the next day to find the wallpaper had regenerated, and always in the same dingy, worn state. The house had been resisting change ever since he had claimed it for the Order’s use. Apparently, the house didn't care for the current occupants either, because the moldy wallpaper and snake-like carvings were all still just as they had been, as was his mother’s portrait, which thankfully was covered at the moment.

It wasn't so bad though. The house hadn't changed, but he had. Before, he had felt like he was suffocating in dread every time he stepped inside. This house had been part prison and part tomb, thick with memories he didn't want to acknowledge, but none of that scared him anymore.

He looked up at the lofty ceiling, now stained with water damage, and sighed. It was actually a bit sad. The house had been grand once, long ago, but now…He turned to look at the stained glass window above the door with the Black family crest. It was so thickly coated in grime that it was hardly transparent anymore.

“This place is a dump.” Saying it aloud made the last remnants of fear drain out of him, but he jumped and spun around when he heard a crash from behind him.

It was Remus.

Remus was standing at the top of the stairs that led down to the kitchen, looking, understandably, as if he had seen a ghost. He was sleep-rumpled and wearing the same threadbare pajamas he had favored two years ago. There was a little more silver in his hair and a little more depth in the contours of his face, and he was so beautiful that he completely took Sirius’ breath away. The flashy, overdramatic reveal he had planned fell right out of his head. All he could do was stare, running his eyes over every inch of Remus’ body that he had never appreciated enough, all the way down to his beautiful bare feet, which he realized with a start were standing in the middle of a spray of broken glass. That was the crash he had heard.

“ _Reparo,_ ” Sirius said, waving his wand before he even realized what he was doing. The broken water glass reformed and flew obediently over to his hand. He looked down at it, still dazzled by the sudden delight of being in the same room as Remus after all this time, only to see that it wasn't a water glass at all. It was a bottle. Right, there was a baby. Harry’s baby.

“But it doesn’t feel like a dream at all.”

Sirius’ head jerked back up at the sound of Remus’ voice, so dearly missed, but he sounded forlorn and detached, as if he were talking to himself. Sirius gripped the bottle tightly in one hand and suddenly felt more grounded. He strode forward, placing the bottle on the stair banister.

“You been dreaming about me, Moony? I’m flattered. What happens next in the dreams?” Sirius stopped opposite him at the top of the stairs, sliding into Remus’ personal space with a shiver of excitement. He leaned down the two inches of height difference that separated them, careful not to touch, not yet, and whispered, “Is it sex?”

There was a long pause while Remus just looked up at him. Sirius wanted to bask in the warm brown light of hunger he saw in Remus’ eyes, but the accompanying despair in the tilt of his eyebrows made the smile start to slide off Sirius’ face.

Finally, Remus said, “You disappear.”

“Oh,” Sirius said stupidly. “Oh, no, Remus, I'm sorry. It’s not a dream. I—”

“You-you smell so r-real.” Remus interrupted. He didn't even seem to be listening, and to Sirius’ horror, his eyes had started to fill with tears.

“I _am_ real,” Sirius protested, desperate to keep Remus from crying. This wasn't how he had imagined this going at all, although maybe he should have. He had thought James was a dream at first, and this was kind of the second time Remus had been through this. He crossed the space separating them and wrapped his hands around Remus’ shoulders, trying to prove he was indeed corporeal. This had the opposite of the intended effect. Remus gasped and jerked in his grip, and his composure—always his most well-guarded possession—shattered more thoroughly than the glass bottle had.

“No, no, Moony, don’t cry…” Sirius said helplessly, but it was too late. Remus had broken open like Sirius had never seen him do before, sobbing so violently that it almost knocked them both off their feet. It was also very loud, and Sirius glanced uncomfortably back at his mother’s still-covered portrait.

“Come on, Moons, you’ll wake her up, come on.” He pulled Remus into the parlor, pushing the door shut with his foot. This threw him off balance, and Remus seemed to have given up on standing. They ended up on the floor, with Remus sprawled inelegantly in Sirius’ lap, still sobbing and clutching his robes hard enough to rip the fabric.

“I’m so sorry, Remus. Please don’t cry.” Sirius looked down at Remus’ wet, scrunched-up face and immediately started to tear up himself. He had to look away. Remus had always been a rock of stability. Seeing him like this was heartbreaking and a little bit terrifying. At first, Sirius had no idea what to do, but then he remembered how James had held him when he had been disowned, then again when he had died, and then many, many times after that as they had watched Sirius’ life. So he took this as his model and simply wrapped his arms around Remus as tightly as he could, occasionally muttering some hopefully-soothing phrase, although he honestly didn’t think Remus was listening. It was still scary, even when holding the memory of James’ example in his head, but after a while Sirius started to understand. It was a little like some of the sex stuff they had used to do. It was just energy, spiraling up and sending Remus flying out of control. As long as one of them was grounded and aware, they would be fine. It was also something that simply had to happen.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, once Remus had calmed down a bit and there was some auditory space for him to actually be heard. “I didn’t mean to stay away so long. I didn’t realize I was coming back at all. James is a right bastard. He kept it all under wraps until just a couple hours ago.”

“James?” Remus pushed back out of his arms far enough to look around the room, as if he thought James might be here as well. And then, of course, Sirius had to explain. He started out with the intention of just giving a general overview, but Remus was so warm and solid in his arms, so focused in his attention…it was impossible not to melt into the moment, impossible not to trust him with everything. He would have told it all, but truthfully there was too much to tell. He was sure it had been a lot longer than two years on his end. It had felt like a lifetime.

He talked for what must have been hours, until his throat was sore. In the meantime, he got to watch Remus gradually relax as the reality of the situation seemed to sink in. The tension drained out of him, and he settled down heavily into Sirius’ arms.

“Then Kingsley tried to chase me down—” Sirius was saying, and Remus was opening his mouth to ask a question, and there was a loud, fussy wail from somewhere overhead.

Remus jerked upright in his arms. “Oh! I never got the bottle—”

He started to stand up but then turned to look at Sirius with obvious apprehension. “A lot’s happened here too.”

Sirius nodded. “Aetherius, right?”

“What?”

“The baby…”

“Teddy,” Remus said, giving Sirius an odd look. He took a deep breath and continued. “Teddy is my son.”

Sirius gaped at him. “ _Your_ son? I thought the baby was Harry’s!”

“No, he—”

“How the fuck did you manage that?” Sirius asked. “Last I checked, you were severely gay!”

The crying reached a new level of intensity, and Remus winced. He picked up Sirius’ wand, which had rolled away from them a bit on the floor, and summoned a tin of formula and the bottle Sirius had left in the hall. He measured the powder as if he had done this a thousand times, although he still spilled some of it on his pajamas.

“After you—afterwards I was just, I don’t know,” Remus was saying, voice tight with agitation. “And Tonks was so…and I thought I might as well try to make _someone_ happy.”

“Tonks?” Sirius asked, totally baffled. “Andromeda’s husband?”

Remus conjured some water and heated the bottle with Sirius’ wand, wincing some more. “No…not Ted. Nymphadora.”

“ _What_?” Sirius felt like his eyes were going to pop out of his head. “Are you really telling me that you had a baby with _Dora_ , my cousin? My _kid_ cousin? Little Dora?”

“Yes, well…” Remus paused like he would add on some sort of excuse or explanation, then seemed to realize he didn’t have one. He stood up and headed up the stairs. Sirius followed him, still trying to process this totally impossible idea.

“But isn’t she, like, underage?” he hissed. “And _a woman_?”

“She wasn’t underage!” Remus protested. “She’s younger, though, and I wouldn’t marry her at first—”

“You _married_ her?”

“Yes, and it was bloody stupid, all right!” Remus snapped, whirling around suddenly on the stairs. “I was barely surviving, and she was head over heels for me, and _obviously_ it didn’t work out! I broke her heart, and now she’s abandoned Teddy and spent the last six months in Somalia, which is clearly all my fault, so it’s _kind of a sore subject._ ”

He stood over Sirius on the stairs, huffing a bit, and Sirius took another long look at him. It wasn't just the rose-tinted excitement of seeing him after so long, Remus actually did look better than the last time Sirius had seen him. He was more filled out under his pajamas, and he didn't have a single new scar that Sirius could see. He must still be on Wolfsbane, but Sirius got the impression there was more to it than that. For one thing, Remus was apparently living here, at Grimmauld Place. It was no great place to live, but it was still a house and surely rent-free. If he was staying home taking care of a baby then he probably had no income, yet he looked better fed and healthier than Sirius had ever seen him. Somehow, despite everything, Remus’ life had taken a turn for the better, and Sirius had missed it.

“I’m sorry,” Sirius said quietly. “I’m being selfish. I was just surprised. I'm glad you haven't been alone.”

Remus softened at that, and he reached out to hold a fold of Sirius’ robes between his thumb and forefinger, an odd little gesture he had adopted when Sirius hadn’t been able to tolerate direct physical contact. It was a reminder of something sad, but it was also something unique to them. It made Sirius smile.

The sound of the crying tapered off into cheerful-sounding gurgles, and Remus’ eyebrows drew together. “I’d better go feed him, or he won't go back to sleep.” He paused, looking Sirius over and absentmindedly shaking the bottle of formula in one hand. “Do you…do you want to meet him?”

“Of course!” Sirius beamed. Remus smiled back and led him to the bedroom that had used to belong to Regulus. Sirius’ heart twisted for a moment as he looked at the blank door that had once read _Regulus Arcturus Black_. He hadn't seen Regulus in the afterlife, except in his own memories. Apparently, he hadn't wanted to, but now he was sorry. Next time, he supposed.

Remus went inside, and Sirius peered in after him. The room had new furniture, and someone had covered up Regulus’ permanent Death-Eater-in-training wall decor with hanging patchwork quilts that had the air of Molly Weasley about them. The ceiling was scattered with blurred star shapes, projected outlines from a night light on an upper shelf. The window on the far side let in the perpetual ambient light of nighttime London, but overall the room was dark. There were only vague shapes visible: the bars of a crib, the silhouette of a baby who had pulled up to hang on the top rail, the outline of a small head softened by airy curls. Then Remus flipped the switch on a dim orange lamp, the baby’s silhouette bloomed into full color, two dimensions became three, and Sirius saw Teddy for the first time.

The resemblance to Remus was obvious, especially if Sirius thought of the few pictures he had seen of Remus as a baby. He could see Remus in the shape of Teddy’s eyes, in the freckles on his skin, and in his soft brown curls. That was expected, but Sirius had not expected to see the Black family resemblance as well. There was no mistaking that mouth and chin, even small and rounded as they still were. Sirius had seen those features often enough in the portraits of himself as a baby. In truth, the baby probably looked like Dora, but it was hard to recognize the facial structure of someone who didn't have a consistent appearance. To Sirius, Teddy looked like the two of them, like Remus and himself. He made Sirius’ breath catch, made his arms burn with longing to pick him up and hold him close. This baby was a true miracle, one Sirius had never even known he wanted to see until it was there in front of him.

Teddy had started crying again when they opened the door. That sound and the sight of Teddy’s little face screwed up in irritation made Sirius’ chest clench, but Remus didn't seem ruffled.

“I’m sorry it took so long,” Remus said to Teddy as he gently lifted him out of the crib. “I didn't have the bottle ready this time. And there’s someone here to meet you.” He tried to turn Teddy to face Sirius, but the baby was fixated on the bottle Remus had placed on the nightstand. “Oh, all right. Food first.”

He sat down in an old-fashioned rocking chair that Sirius remembered from the attic and his own childhood nursery. Teddy’s frustrated, growling cry got more intense as the bottle got closer to his mouth and then abruptly cut off. For several minutes all that could be heard was the rhythmic swish of Teddy sucking the formula down.

“You can come in, you know,” Remus said, and Sirius realized he had been standing awkwardly in the doorway this whole time. “And shut the door. The hall lights are too bright.”

Sirius stepped forward and closed the door behind him, trying to move quietly so he wouldn’t distract Teddy from eating, unsuccessfully. The baby stopped sucking and turned to fix him with light-colored eyes not so different from Sirius’ own. Seeing that he was distracted, Remus put the bottle to one side. “Teddy, this is Sirius. Sirius, this is Teddy.”

He held Teddy a little more upright in his lap and looked over at Sirius, obviously expecting something, but Sirius couldn’t think what to say.

“Padfoot?” Remus asked. There was a faint echo of nervousness in his voice, as if he was still afraid Sirius would judge him for creating something, someone, so wonderful. Sirius wanted to reassure him, but he was too stunned to think of the right words, so he followed Remus’ unintentional suggestion and transformed into Padfoot.

Remus smiled and held out his hand. “Padfoot. Come here.”

Padfoot’s form freed Sirius from his hesitation, and he bounded forward to lick Remus’ hand in enthusiastic greeting.

“Good boy,” Remus whispered, stroking behind his ears. “I missed you.”

Sirius put his paws up on Remus’ knees and gave his face one big messy lick, then turned his attention to the wide-eyed baby in Remus’ arms. He took in the baby’s scent: diaper cream, formula, baby shampoo, and his own distinct Teddy-smell, which was very similar to Remus’ own beloved scent. Teddy seemed unfazed by Padfoot’s huge head and snuffling breath. He reached up to grab one of Padfoot’s dangling ears, and Padfoot licked a drop of formula off his chin.

Sirius inhaled one more time then transformed back into a human. Teddy stared up at him, nonplussed, from several inches away, his little hand now gripping Sirius’ hair.

“Hello baby,” Sirius whispered, his voice a bit hoarse with emotion.

Teddy babbled something back, and as Sirius watched, the wispy brown curls on his head straightened and darkened to match Sirius’ own hair. Sirius laughed with delight, looking up to see if Remus had seen.

“He’s like Dora, isn't he? A Metamorphmagus!”

Remus nodded. His whole face was bright with pride. “Yes. He can only change his hair so far. But he doesn't do it much. He must like you.”

“Of course he does!” Sirius grinned, turning back to Teddy. “Of course you do. I can change too.”

“He’s like his mother.” Remus untangled Teddy’s fingers from Sirius’ hair, still being careful not to touch Sirius’ skin. “He’s not like me.”

“He’s not a werewolf, you mean.” Sirius sat back on his heels to take in the both of them. He could imagine Remus would have been consumed with that fear during the pregnancy. That, more than anything, made it clear that Teddy had not been in any sort of plan. Yet here he was, and he was more perfect in Sirius’ eyes than any plan could ever have been. “He is like you, though. Spitting image, Moony. Bloody gorgeous little thing…just like his Daddy.”

“Thank you,” Remus said, with a small, relieved smile and a touch of color in his cheeks. “Now. Please stop being so interesting so I can put him back to sleep.”

“I’ll try, but I can't make any promises. I'm inherently interesting. It's a real trial.” He leaned forward to give Teddy a quick kiss on his now dark-haired head. “Go to sleep, cute stuff. In the morning you and I are going to have a ball. It’s Christmas, right?” he asked Remus.

“Yeah, it is,” Remus said, looking down at the two of them with a kind of breathless admiration that made Sirius want to snog him senseless. Suddenly, Sirius was very motivated to do whatever it took to get Teddy to sleep. He guessed from the amount of light in the sky outside that they had a couple hours until dawn, and he could think of a lot of things he would like to do in those hours.

He winked at Remus, just because he could, and sat on the floor out of Teddy’s line of sight while Remus fed him the rest of the bottle. At first, he was surprised Remus didn't tell him to leave the room entirely, but then he noticed that Remus’ eyes were on him nearly the whole time. He had a feeling Remus wouldn't let him out of his sight until time proved that he wasn't going to disappear, as he apparently did in Remus’ dreams.

To Sirius’ delight, Remus sang softly as Teddy ate, filling the room with first a Beatles song and then a Welsh lullaby that Sirius didn't recognize. Sirius felt a glow of satisfaction at hearing such things in his old family home. He wondered why Remus had chosen this room, Regulus’ room, for Teddy. If it had been up to Sirius, he would have boarded it up and shuddered with grief every time he had walked by the door. Remus’ way was much better. He had taken this ugly room full of ugly memories and filled it with warmth and love. It made Sirius’ head spin with ideas.

Once the formula was gone Remus turned out the night light and gently laid Teddy down in his crib. Teddy wailed once, and Sirius watched the muscles in Remus’ back tense until Teddy rolled onto his stomach and went to sleep.

They left the room, Remus guiding him unnecessarily through the darkness with a hand on his hip. Sirius had been planning to pin Remus to the wall in the hallway as soon as Teddy’s door was shut, but before he got a chance the bathroom door down the hall opened, and there was Harry, standing stock-still and staring at him with wide green eyes.

Sirius was expecting a cry of joy and an embrace, or maybe sheer disbelief and a storm of weeping like had happened with Remus. What he got was a stunner to the chest.

+++

When Sirius woke up, he was lying underneath a writhing mass of fire-breathing snakes, but it wasn't an untimely descent to hell, it was just the underside of the hideous chandelier hanging over the dining room table…which meant he must be lying _on_ the table. The tunnel of his vision expanded as consciousness returned more thoroughly, revealing quite a lot of people sitting around him at the table, at least half of whom were Weasleys.

“Whoa,” Sirius said. He craned his neck to see that the person sitting, or rather standing, at the head of the table was, of course, Harry—a very suspicious-looking Harry, who currently had his wand pointed directly at Sirius’ head. “Um. Hello Harry.”

“I know you aren't who you look like, so don't bother trying,” Harry said coldly.

“Who I look—oh boy,” Sirius groaned and sat up, slowly, both to avoid provoking Harry and because his head was throbbing. “Did Remus not vouch for me?”

“I did.” Remus was sitting next to Harry, and Dora was next to him. Dora was holding Teddy, and all three of them looked a bit uncomfortable with this arrangement. Remus continued, “You should have seen what he was going to do before I vouched for you. Calling in the cavalry would be an understatement.”

“You call this _not_ the calvary? You even brought your, uh, your wife. I thought you were supposed to be in Africa?” Sirius looked at Dora and all the other people seated around the table, one of whom, he realized in an embarrassing double-take, must be part Veela. A round-faced, sandy-haired boy near the end of the table giggled and then covered his mouth with his hand.

“I’m not his wife anymore,” Dora said. “And we came for Christmas brunch.”

“Am I the pudding?” There were a couple titters from the far end of the table this time. “Ugh, why do I feel like I’ve been run over?”

“We cast some spells to make sure you aren’t an Inferius,” Hermione spoke up from where she was sitting on Sirius’ left, in between Ginny and Ron.

Sirius groaned. “An Inferius, _really?_ I know I need a shower but come on!”

“Stop talking to them!” Harry said fiercely, making a threatening motion with his wand. “Remus did vouch for you, so I'm going to give you a chance to tell me who you are before I hand you over.”

“Harry…” Sirius swallowed, looking in between Harry’s stony face and the tip of his wand. “It’s me. Really.”

“If you were really Sirius Black, you would have already told me the code word he and I set up for situations like this,” Harry said, his expression never flickering.

Sirius’ eyes widened as he frantically tried to remember what Harry was talking about. “I—I don't remember doing that.”

“Lucky guess,” Harry said after a moment. “Sirius and I never chose a security phrase. So you’ll just have to tell me something only Sirius would know, or maybe I'll hand you over to the Ministry as you are. They're still struggling to improve their image in the press. I'm sure they would be thrilled to throw someone who looks like Sirius Black in Azkaban without doing much checking up.”

Sirius sucked in his breath, and his heart began to beat faster. He could already feel that his wand had been taken out of the pocket of his robes. He was defenseless. All Harry had to do was stun him again, and he would wake up back in Azkaban. He hadn’t gotten a trial before, there was no reason he would get one now. And now everyone knew how he had escaped, so he wouldn’t be able to use the same trick again. He gripped the polished wood of the table below him, suddenly dizzy with fear.

“Pads,” Remus said quietly. The sound of his voice, so nearby, so calm, brought Sirius back down.

“I’m not going back,” he muttered to himself under his breath, trying to find his center again. It was there, somewhere close to the memory of saying goodbye to James and Lily under the stars in an overgrown garden. “I promised. No more prisons.”

“Then you’d better start talking!” Harry snapped.

“Right.” Sirius swallowed. “I—I gave you that Firebolt. In your third year.”

Harry’s nostrils flared, and his lips narrowed with anger. “ _Everyone_ knows that.”

Sirius shook a little and tried again. “When you were six months old, you ate one of the buttons off my dress shirt, and your mum hexed me to hang from the ceiling by my hair.”

Harry’s eyes flicked to Remus. “Is that true?”

Remus nodded. The tip of Harry’s wand wavered. For just a moment his composure slipped, and Sirius saw in his eyes how desperately he wanted to believe. But then he shook his head, bringing his wand back level. “You were alone with Remus for who knows how long. I can’t trust anything he says. Last chance.”

When had Harry become so harsh and suspicious? Sirius felt a pang of grief and loss. Oddly, it seemed to be for his own death. He had missed so much, and somewhere in there, Harry had learned not to trust.

Sirius racked his brain, trying to think of something only Harry would know, something that had been just between the two of them that he wouldn’t have told anyone else. He could feel everyone around him staring, holding their breath.

He and Harry had only actually been alone together a few times during those dark, depressing years. What of significance had they said? He couldn’t think of… _anything_. He kept running through their brief conversations and coming up empty, and each time he felt more horrified. He didn’t know anything about Harry, not really, and he should. He was Harry’s godfather! He should have been someone Harry felt safe confiding in. He should know Harry’s inside jokes and most uncomfortable secrets. He should have been there for him, all this time. He should be, should be—

“Sorry!” Sirius burst out suddenly, loudly enough that the people closest to him jumped. “Oh, Merlin, Harry, I’m so _sorry._ I should never have let you out of my sight. I should have kept you in my arms that night and never let you go, no matter what Hagrid said. That’s what James and Lily wanted, what you wanted, even though you were too little to know it, and instead I left you to go _chasing after a rat!_ ”

“Stop it. You’re not him!” Harry took a few steps backward. His eyes were wide behind his glasses, his false front starting to waver, and, _oh_ , Sirius knew so much about false fronts. He’d learned to live most of his life under one, as the only defense against the abandonment that had happened long before his mother had burned a hole in the Black family tapestry. He’d been so far under that spell, he had done the same thing to Harry without even realizing it. He had let history repeat itself. He had left Harry alone, and now it was no wonder Harry didn't trust even the evidence of his own eyes.

Sirius had moved closer without realizing it, had swung himself off the table so his feet were back on the ground. His eyes were stinging, and he was a flood of words. He couldn’t have stopped himself if he had wanted to.

“After Azkaban, I should have gone to you right away, as soon as I got out. I should have gotten you out of that horrible house. I shouldn’t have let anyone tell me you were safer there. I should have been there for you the whole time, whenever you needed me, and instead—I was so selfish! That night I thought I had no one left, but there was always you, and you should have been more important than all of it.”

“S-stop,” Harry whispered. His eyes were shiny, threatening to overflow. He was still holding his wand outstretched, but he seemed to have forgotten it was there. “Just l-leave me alone.”

“No,” Sirius said, and suddenly he felt that same sense of certainty he had first known when James had tossed him the muggle remote and said ‘ _Trust me.’_ He was exactly where he belonged. He knew who he was. “No, Harry. Not ever again.”

Harry shook where he stood, and the tears that had been waiting to fall suddenly sped down his face. Sirius gave up on paying attention to the threat of the wand, and stepped forward to wrap his arms around him. Harry gasped in much the same way Remus had. He didn’t resist the embrace, but he didn’t hug Sirius back either, not at first. Where Remus had been heavy and solid, Harry seemed light and distant, as if he wasn’t really living in the present moment at all. Sirius didn’t let it get to him. He knew all about living in the tumult of the past. He just hugged him tighter, trying to hold all of those different versions of Harry, from the jaded adult in front of him now all the way down to the vulnerable toddler he had cast aside in favor of revenge, all those years ago.

“I’m so sorry,” he repeated, and Harry shivered again.

“I don’t understand,” Harry whispered against Sirius’ shoulder, his voice small and lost, young. “Where were you?”

Sirius held him out at arms-length and looked around at the crowd of people, many of whom had stood up from their chairs. A few of them, like the older Weasley boys, had drawn their wands. Sirius took a moment to actually see them all, remembering each of their names and faces, the ones he knew. Judging by the count, this seemed to be the complete set of Weasleys, unless some more had been made in his absence, which wouldn’t be that surprising. He recognized Hermione and Ron, of course. There were a couple other people Harry’s age, probably friends from school, including a girl with Christmas tree ornaments hanging from gauged ears. And then there was the part-Veela girl, who was putting a steadying hand on Bill Weasley’s wand arm. Aunt Andromeda and Ted were there too, on the other side of Remus, along with Dora and baby Teddy.

They were a mismatched bunch, and, in fact, they probably only had one thing in common. Harry.

They were all watching Sirius, each with their own thoughts or worries, each looking to Harry to see if they should take action. They were Harry’s family, the one he had built when his own had been taken from him. Sirius smiled, feeling a rise of joy under their joint attention.

“All right,” he said with a confident toss of his head. “Who’s ready to hear a wicked awesome story?”

+++

He was more composed than he had been with Remus and managed to tell an abridged version, one that focused on the entertaining details and left out a lot of the pain. He couldn’t have had a better audience. They gathered around him in a dense crowd. Harry stayed so close that some part of him was always brushing up against Sirius’ robes, and Remus wasn’t much better. The girl with the Christmas ornament earrings serenely climbed up to sit on the table where she could have a better view, and Dora let the squirming Teddy loose to crawl around on the table near her. That made Remus twitch, but with so many people crowded around, it was impossible for Teddy to fall.

About twenty minutes in, Fred and George called a strategic time-out so that the food—which had apparently been waiting in the kitchen all this time—could be served. It was the most untraditional meal Sirius had ever eaten at that table. Everyone had brought something, and many of the dishes weren’t even a little bit British. The food was served not by house elves but by the twins, who conducted everything with their wands and had a bit too much fun pretending to lose control of dishes right when they were passing over people’s heads. Remus and Harry each scooted aside a little bit to make room for Sirius between them, and everyone listened raptly while he continued to talk. Sirius couldn’t have been happier.

He timed the story so that it was winding down at about the same time as the meal, and for the grand finale he announced that if anyone still doubted that he was the one, the only, Sirius Black, he had something to show them. He transformed into Padfoot in front of them all and bounded around the room, barking at the world to prove that he was here, he was real, he was himself.

The sudden loud sound made Teddy cry in Andromeda’s arms, and Sirius changed back at once.

“Sorry, Teddy, sorry,” he said, trying to soothe the baby. “That’s just Padfoot, don’t worry.”

Remus had appeared at Andromeda’s shoulder as soon as Teddy had startled, and Teddy lunged for him, calming down quickly in his father’s arms. Unfortunately, Padfoot’s barking had disturbed someone else as well, someone far more difficult to quiet back down.

“MUDBLOODS AND TRAITORS! POLLUTING MY HOUSE WITH YOUR FILTH!”

“Oh, bloody fucking hell,” Sirius muttered and went out into the hall to try to cover his mother’s portrait.

“ _YOU!_ ” She screeched when she saw him. “I thought we were finally rid of you and your disrespectful, foul—”

“Sorry to disappoint, mother!” he shouted over her, trying to tug the curtains back over her frame. They wouldn’t budge. It must have been a while since she had had a chance to rage.

“They told me you were dead, and I rejoiced! One less traitor to disgrace the purity of the House of Black!”

“We don’t _have_ a House of Black anymore, you old screechbat! There’s just me, and I don’t know if you noticed, but purity has never been high on my list of priorities.” Sirius sighed and gave up on the curtains. With all these people in the house, feeding her with their life forces, there was too much energy built up in the portrait for him to hope to quiet her, especially without his wand.

“WOLF!” the portrait howled suddenly. Sirius turned to see Remus had followed him into the hall. He was trying to hold up his wand while pressing Teddy against his chest with his hand over the baby’s ear so that he wouldn’t hear the rage and slurs spewing from the portrait. “LIVING HERE IN MY ANCESTRAL HOME WITH YOUR FOUL HALF-BREED MUTT!”

Remus was pale with anger, but he didn’t respond. He waved his wand, saying a spell that Sirius couldn’t even hear over his mother’s continued screaming. The curtains twitched but didn’t budge.

“Shut _up_ , you mindless fascist harpy!” Sirius shouted. He knew that giving her the force of his fury would only make her stronger, but he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t stand the thought of Remus living with this day after day, tiptoeing through the entryway to avoid waking her.

“I WON’T ALLOW THE PRODUCT OF A WEREWOLF’S RUT TO—AND YOU!” Walburga switched targets abruptly when she saw Harry, who had just followed them into the hall, wand also raised, trying to cast a spell to close the curtains. “HALF MUDBLOOD, HALF NEGRO, SMEARING YOUR—”

“Shut the bloody fuck up!” Sirius yelled. She had never cared to acknowledge James’ actual race, and apparently that was true for Harry as well. Thus her slurs were often off by an entire continent. “Don’t you say _shit_ to them!”

She whirled on him from within the frame. “I WILL SAY WHAT I PLEASE! This is MY home, the seat of MY FAMILY—”

“YOU DON’T KNOW SHIT ABOUT FAMILY!” Sirius bellowed, loudly enough to make the chandelier above him sway. “These people know more about family than you ever have! You were supposed to be my _mother,_ and you left me with those evil women who didn’t even care enough to—to—” he shuddered, remembering what he had seen on the VCR tape, suddenly feeling it in himself as well, flashing back so hard he could almost see the inside edges of the cradle, could feel the blurry, life-threatening panic of being _left._ “You have never been never family to me. _These_ people are my family. _James_ is my family. This man, he’s my family!” He tugged Remus over, pulling him and Teddy in next to him, then reached for Harry too. “ _Harry_ is my family. And them!” He gestured to the rest of the guests, who had all started to spill out into the hallway, wanting to help or witness. “All of them! Aunt Andy, The Weasleys, Hermione, even—” He paused, snapping his fingers at the round-faced boy. “You! What’s your name kid?”

“N-Neville,” he said hesitantly.

“Right! Longbottom!” Sirius spun to face his mother again. “Even _he_ is more family to me than you are! You-you’re just…” He stopped abruptly, actually seeing what was in front of him for the first time, the chipped wooden frame, the stained edges of the canvas, the mistakes the artist had made in the brushstrokes. “Oh. You’re just a painting.”

The portrait had been quiet as he raged, watching him with furious, hungry eyes, content to pull on the energy he was feeding it. For a portrait, this display of temper was better than any Christmas feast. Its eyes flashed as he suddenly calmed, and it opened its mouth to fill the silence he had left, ready to antagonize him again, but Sirius had had enough. He took a deep breath, reaching down inside his chest for stability, for the calm center that would always be there now, no matter how much the rest of the world spun with chaos around him.

 _“Silencio,”_ he said. He still didn’t have his wand, but it didn’t matter. Not today. Not for this. The figure inside the frame thrashed wildly, its mouth moving in silent, hateful screams. He paid it no attention. He took Remus’ wand from his limp, startled hand and pointed it at his own palm. He allowed himself only one shuddering breath before he did it, just a little curse, just enough to draw blood. He hissed at the pain but stepped forward, not letting himself hesitate or flinch as he smeared the blood on the four sides of the frame where it met the wall.

He had always known, on some level, that this was what it would take, but he had been terrified of submitting to any pain. He had always winced away from fistfights and needles, even though he dearly envied the tattooed arms and pectorals he had seen on others at various clubs. But it had to be done.

“ _Finite Incantatum,”_ he said, and his hunch was correct. The permanent sticking charm recognized him as its caster, or close enough (at least inbreeding was good for _something_ ), and the spell was broken. The painting separated from the wall. He let it fall forward, pulling Harry out of the way as the eight-foot frame crashed to the floor, paint-side down.

In the long moment of silence that followed, Sirius looked first at the back side of the canvas, and then, slowly, up at the wall that had been hidden behind it. The wallpaper there was pristine, untouched by dampness and dust. It was the brightest thing in the room, a rectangle of brilliant, beautiful green in the midst of faded grey. It was Slytherin green, he knew, but to him it looked like the young leaves on the apple tree in Lily’s garden, like Harry’s eyes, like new life.

He reached for it, watching his own hand move as if in slow motion, full of wonder that something so lovely had been buried under such evil. His fingers spread, just a little, and then his bloodied palm made contact with the wall.

A jolt went up his spine, something brief but powerful, like the aftershock of a really good orgasm. He felt an answering ripple run through the house, radiating out from his palm, across the wall, and over the floor underneath his feet. He grinned wide, full of a sudden, heady knowledge.

The house knew him. It was his now.

He laughed, almost manic with the power of it, and waved Remus’ wand, instantly and effortlessly restoring the rest of the wallpaper to match the beautiful patch he had found. He whirled to face the rest of the room and transformed the ugly snakelike stair banisters into bright, smooth wood, a light color that brought out the best of the green. He had tried to do it before. This time he knew the changes would stick.

He tossed Remus’ wand back to him and reached over to fish his own out of Harry’s pocket, where he had seen it poking out earlier while they ate. He smiled at them both, putting one arm around Harry’s shoulders and gesturing broadly to the house around them. “Come on then! Let’s show this place a good time.”

Harry grinned, a mischievous eagerness in his eyes that reminded Sirius of James, but was truly all Harry’s own. He pointed his wand at the worn rug beneath their feet, and Sirius watched in delight as the disturbing, abstract caricatures of screaming house elves transformed into an interlocking flight of hippogriffs, beady eyes bright and wings spread wide. Remus transfigured the chandelier, removing the horrible snakes, polishing the silver, and lighting it with three precise incantations. It shone as brightly as sunlight, and Teddy leaned back in Remus’ arms to stare at it. Then the twins shouted a battle cry and started firing spells at the remaining portraits in the hall, and then _everyone_ was joining in.

They moved from room to room, banishing darkness, ugliness, and signs of ill-use until the whole house shone. Remus took particular joy in removing the Death Eater insignia from behind the quilts in Teddy’s room, and Sirius heard Dora out in the hall casting spell after vengeful spell on the hideous umbrella stand she was always knocking over.

Sirius was in his element, suggesting improvements and letting loose bursts of confetti whenever he saw something he really liked. He left most of the changes to the others, loving that the house was becoming a wild conglomeration, something that reflected a bit of each one of the people that loved Harry. They changed everything, from the black tiles in the kitchen to the stained ceiling moldings in the library. Sometime around mid-afternoon they ended up in the huge master bedroom, which no one had been in since his mother had died, not even to clean.

“Ugh.” Sirius winced at the dusty furniture and doxy-infested curtains. “It’ll all have to go.”

It took them a while, even all working together, and Remus got to show off his excellent knowledge of magical creatures when they found some truly strange things in the dresser drawers. They got rid of everything dangerous and banished the furniture to the back lawn, where a large pile had already built up over the course of the day, all stacked on top of Walburga’s foul portrait.

“We’re going to have a hell of a bonfire later,” Sirius promised.

He charmed the ceiling of the master bedroom black with little splatters of white paint, thinking of the projected stars in Teddy’s room. Maybe later he would enchant it to show the sky above, like the dining hall at Hogwarts. Then he turned his attention to the narrow slit windows and made them huge, merging the panes into each other until the wall was mostly glass, looking out on the large back garden and over the wall to Muggle London beyond, a view that previous occupants had not welcomed. Bright winter light filled the room, shining down through the clouds and reflecting off the thick snow below. It had been falling off and on all day.

Sirius stood looking out the window, sighing with contentment as the others chattered behind him, fixing up the other details of the room. Outside, a flock of tiny brown birds was taking advantage of the break in the snowfall, flying back and forth between the bare branches of the trees in the garden. They looked like the ones at James’ house, but there were lots more of them. Sirius watched with peaceful fascination as they clumped together and separated in graceful arcs, their movements coordinated with a magic no wizard could replicate.

After a little while, Remus joined him at the window. Teddy came crawling after him and pulled himself up to stand against the glass, looking fearlessly straight down at the grounds below.

“All right?” Remus asked, sounding worried.

“Yeah.” Sirius smiled at him and then turned his gaze back out towards the flock. “Just watching the birds.”

Remus raised his eyebrows and followed his line of sight. “You make me want to call in the cavalry after all.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just…you’re so different.”

“In a good way, I think.”

“It seems so,” Remus said, his voice going wide and beautiful with wonder.

“Some things are the same,” Sirius said, low, so no one else would hear. He turned to lock eyes with Remus, smiling when the intensity of the visual contact made Remus inhale, his eyes going suddenly dark. There was nearly a meter of space separating them, but Sirius could still feel the effect of the proximity of Remus’ body tingling along his skin. Conscious of all the people around them, Sirius winked and turned to look back out the window.

There was a long silence. He smiled when the floorboards grew bright and glossy beneath their feet in response to a charm by Molly Weasley.

“Dibs,” he said.

Remus didn’t respond, and Sirius looked up to see he was bright red. It took Sirius a moment to figure out why.

“On the _room_ , Moony,” he said, laughing. Then something else occurred to him, and he whispered, “Do I _need_ to call dibs on you? I swear, Remus, every time I want to get with you, you’re always with someone—”

Remus was blushing even harder now, and he opened his mouth to say something—hopefully, something reassuring—but then Harry called to them from across the room. “Sirius! It’s Christmas, let’s do presents!”

Sirius rolled his eyes at the interruption, but he couldn’t pretend he wasn’t actually quite excited about the idea. He had a once-in-a-lifetime present for Harry, after all. He gave Remus a little nudge with his elbow, just because he knew it would go straight to the other man’s cock when he was like this, and turned to follow the crowd downstairs to the parlor, where the Christmas tree and presents were waiting.

“Me first,” Sirius said firmly, when the twins would have started ripping the paper off what were surely Molly-made sweaters right away. There were a lot of packages like that. That woman could knit like a demon.

To his surprise, several wrapped presents were pushed in his direction from Harry, Remus, and Molly. Somehow, against all odds, she must have managed a sweater for him. Strangely, there was also a tiny present from Charlie.

“No, I mean I have one to give,” Sirius clarified, although now he was burning with curiosity. He turned to Harry. “I have messages from your mum and dad for you.”

Harry’s eyes went wide and everyone in the room went still in anticipation that Sirius appreciated very much, almost as much as Harry’s poorly concealed tears when he heard his mother’s heartfelt message. Ginny wrapped an arm around him, squeezing his shoulder and offering a handkerchief without judgement.

Sirius nodded approvingly at her, but he hesitated before delivering the message from James. “I thought I understood the one from your dad, but apparently I don’t. He wanted to second what your mum said, and also…well, he says he thinks Aetherius is a great name for a baby.”

Harry’s brow furrowed in confusion, and a few people glanced at Teddy. Sirius, however, was watching Ginny, whose eyes were wide, her cheeks rapidly turning pink.

“Ginny?” he prompted. “Got anything to say?”

Harry’s head turned towards her so fast, Sirius was surprised he didn’t get whiplash.

“What?” Harry blurted, with admirable coherence under the circumstances.

Ginny turned even more red, now the complete center of attention. “It—it’s only been a few weeks! It was too early to say anything. I might not actually be—”

 _“Pregnant!”_ Several people jumped at the joyful shriek from Molly, who shouldered her way across the room, wrapping her arms around her daughter with blissful excitement. “Oh, my darling! A _baby!_ And so soon, I can’t believe it!”

The room burst into congratulations that Sirius really hoped weren’t unfounded. Harry, meanwhile, was clearly speechless. He looked like he had been simultaneously hit with a cheering charm and slapped in the face.

“Wow,” he managed to say at last. Ginny grinned and grabbed his chin so she could kiss him. She didn’t seem too worried that he wouldn’t be pleased, so Sirius had to assume they had been trying for a baby. He shook his head internally. They had only just gotten married. But it wasn’t like Harry needed time to establish himself in a career or anything. He was filthy rich, with both the Potter and the Black fortunes now his own. He would probably try to give the Black half of it back, once he thought of it, but Sirius had no intention of accepting it. And, of course, Harry already had a home for his family—a newly renovated home, thanks to the work of the day. Sirius grinned, suddenly realizing that if Ginny really was pregnant, that would mean there would be _two_ little sprogs running around the place, Teddy and Harry’s baby together, causing trouble and being adorable.

“I think James was kidding about the name itself, by the way,” Sirius said, once the commotion had died down a bit. “You don’t actually have to name your baby a mouthful like Aetherius. He’s just trying to prank you from the great beyond.”

“Oh, all right,” Harry said. “We had thought of some names already…” He looked at Sirius and blushed, then continued, “I had thought…James Sirius for a boy—”

Sirius exploded with laughter to hide his own blush and the sudden tightness in his chest. “Oh, Merlin, Harry, you can’t do that! Do you have any idea how smug and irritating that bastard would be, for _all eternity?_ Naming your firstborn after him—he’d never get over it!”

“It’s not that strange!” Ginny protested. “Lots of people use names from their family tree!”

“Yes, but this is James we’re talking about,” Sirius said. “He’s…special.”

“Well, I had also thought about Albus Sev—” Harry started to say, but then broke off in the middle of the second name, looking self-consciously at Sirius. It was a testament to how much Harry had grown up in the last two years that he took a deep breath and kept going, because Sirius was already glowering. “Albus Severus.”

“Harry…” Sirius ignored the warning hand Remus put on his arm. “What the fuck.”

“Sirius!” Molly said sharply, breaking the tension. “Language!”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “Come on, Molly, they’re all grown now.”

“Teddy isn’t!”

Sirius looked guiltily at the baby now trying to tug on Luna’s earrings, but Remus just shrugged. “I don’t mind if Teddy learns powerful words.”

Sirius laughed with delight and pulled Remus into a one-armed hug. “Aw, Moony, you’re going to be the best dad ever!”

“‘Going to be?’” Remus muttered, but Sirius had already turned back to the real dad-to-be. Now he understood what James had meant when he said he was sending Sirius back to the world of the living ‘just in time.’

“Look, Harry, I’m guessing a couple relevant events happened while I was out, but there is no way you are naming your baby after that cold-hearted, sociopathic, manipulative spider of a—”

“Snape was on our side all along!” Harry protested. “I just didn’t know, and he sacrificed himself—”

“First of all,” Sirius said, holding up one finger, “Snape’s dead? Good riddance. Second of all, I wasn’t talking about him.”

Harry’s jaw dropped, and he wasn’t the only one. “What—you mean _Dumbledore?”_

Sirius sighed. For some reason, he always seemed to be the only one who saw Dumbledore for what he really was. “Harry, that bastard _always_ knew what was going on. We knew Voldemort was coming for you. We all knew. We all tried to do whatever we could, but not him. He could have helped prevent your parents from being killed. He didn’t. He could have kept you away from the Dursley's, or at least made sure they treated you well by visiting and scaring them into good behavior. He didn’t. He could have been there for you over and over, including when you were just a kid facing down the most powerful dark wizard to ever live. He wasn’t. He was grooming you for his use, from the time you were a baby, all because of some stupid prophecy.”

“It wasn’t like that!” Harry protested. “He _was_ there for me, more than anyone else!”

That stung, and Sirius could tell he wasn’t the only one in the room that felt it. Remus cleared his throat and said. “Sirius, we all have to accept a share of the blame for what happened to James and Lily. I don’t deny that Dumbledore used Harry—he used all of us—but he _was_ trying to defeat Voldemort. He had good intentions.” His voice lowered to a shamed whisper. “And he wasn’t the only one who could have influenced the Dursleys.”

“Stop it,” Harry said fiercely, grabbing Remus’ hand and squeezing it tight. “You’ve apologized enough, Remus.”

Remus sighed and turned to pull Harry into a hug. The gesture was sweet yet casual, as if it wasn’t unusual for them to do it. Sirius felt a warm glow that balanced out the guilt and irritation. He was proud of them both, that they had found each other and decided to be a family, in the midst of everything. Seeing them together gave him faith. He was still furious with Dumbledore, or rather with his memory, since his scan of the Daily Prophet told him Dumbledore was dead now, but there was no purpose to expressing that anger right now. He let it go, at least for the moment.

“Well, I don’t like it,” he said in a sudden fit of tolerance. “But I suppose it’s not my baby to name.”

“Aetherius means sky, right?” Ginny asked. “That’s not so bad.”

“Yes, it is,” Sirius said. “It’s awful.”

“Terrible,” George agreed. The twins were casually easing open the wrapping paper on a large present with their names on it, apparently having grown bored with the family dramas.

“You could use a—how do you say, Bill, a short name?” Fleur asked.

“A nickname,” Bill said.

“Oh, like Aethie!” Fred said with mock enthusiasm.

“No, Rius!” George said.

“Ree-Ree!”

“Theory!”

“Theo,” Remus said, always happy to play the voice of reason.

“Oh, I like Theo,” Ginny said.

“Well, you don't have to decide quite yet,” Molly said, although her eyes were shining in a way that implied she was already mentally knitting jumpers and stocking caps.

Harry nodded, breaking out into a big dopey grin once more. He leaned over Remus to prod at the presents in Sirius’ lap. “Come on, open them! This one first!”

Sirius, who had been feeling the packages burning holes in his lap this whole time, didn’t need any further encouragement. According to the label, this first one was from Harry and Remus both. He unwrapped it so hastily he almost lost the actual present amongst the tissue paper, as the gift turned out to be a small roll of parchment. Sirius smiled and unrolled it, expecting a nice letter, but a few minutes later he was reaching for the handkerchief Molly offered, because it wasn't a letter at all.

It was a pardon.

“We wanted to clear your name,” Harry said. “The paperwork came in a few months ago. It never should have happened at all. They should have at least tested your wand!”

“It won't happen again,” Percy said. “We have better procedures now.”

“Percy helped re-draft the due process legislation himself,” Arthur put in proudly.

“Thank you,” Sirius said, trying to swallow down the rest of his tears.

“When you’re ready, Dad and I will go with you to get your paperwork straightened out,” Percy said. “I'll walk you through the procedure for being declared alive.”

“There’s a procedure for this?” Ron asked.

“Of course. There’s a procedure for everything,” Percy said primly.

“You can tell them you were in hiding the whole time,” Andromeda suggested, “and that you came back because you heard about the pardon.”

“Let’s go tomorrow!” Sirius said. He could hardly imagine what it was going to be like to be a regular member of society again, to be able to walk down Diagon Alley and say hello to people, to go to restaurants and clubs… “And St. Mungo’s, I want to go there too.”

“Why?” Harry asked, instantly on alert. “Is something wrong?”

“No, I'm going to apply for an apprenticeship as a Healer!” He had only just come up with the idea, but he already loved it. With this paper in his hands, he felt like he could do anything. And why not? It's what he had wanted to do with his life, a long time ago. Now that he finally had a life to do things with, he wasn’t holding back.

Remus laughed. “You’ve only just come back! You should relax first. Go on a vacation.”

“What do you think I've been doing?” Sirius said, although truly, being dead hadn't been all fun and games. “Oh, unless _you_ want to go on a vacation, Moony? Where do you want to go? I’ll go anywhere with you.” He gave Remus a brilliant, no-holds-barred, one hundred percent Sirius Black smile and greatly enjoyed watching him struggle not to over-respond. He wondered what Remus would have done if he wasn't the kind of person to keep everything wrapped up all the time—probably tackle him and snog him into the couch cushions. The thought made him shiver.

“Open your other presents,” Remus said with a subtle warning tone in his voice.

“Whatever you say, Professor,” Sirius said. “All right crew, get your knitwear!” He held up the one from Molly with a grin.

“Knitwear, coming right up!” George took charge, sorting and forcefully chucking squishy presents from Molly at the crowd until everyone had one except Molly herself, who was blushing bright pink.

“Ready…set…go!” Sirius shouted, and they all unwrapped their sweaters simultaneously. “Yessss!” Sirius crowed with real delight. His was a lovely grey cable-knit, and it even had an S on it. The S has been hastily added with a separate piece of fabric instead of knitted in like everyone else’s letters, but he didn't care. A Molly-sweater was a badge of honor. He pulled his robe off over his head—which made Remus twitch, so he tossed the garment at him—and proudly put the sweater on over his shirt and trousers.

“Oh, no, Fred—you fetid bowtruckle!” Fred and Bill were wrestling in one corner. Fred managed to steal Bill’s sweater and get it on. He shoved his brother off the loveseat he had been sharing with Fleur.

“Hello darling,” Fred said, imitating Bill’s voice and positioning himself so the B on his sweater was pointing towards her. “Wanna get out of here? This house has an excellent quantity of bedrooms.”

“You vish,” Fleur said, calmly pulling her long blonde hair out of the neck of her own ice-blue sweater.

George had stepped forward in solidarity with his twin to restrain Bill, but they were both laughing so much that it wasn't a real struggle. Finally, Bill managed to get his wand arm free, and he choked out an undressing spell that shucked the sweater off Fred, along with the shirt underneath.

“Whoa, easy!” Fred said, grabbing his fly, which had come partway undone as well. “The lady’s not interested. Marriage isn't all it's cracked up to be, I see.”

Bill tugged him off the couch with a firm grip on his ear. Fred grinned with good humor and put his own sweater on over his bare chest.

Remus meanwhile, had helped Teddy unwrap his present and was now dressing him in a baby-sized white sweater. He paused when he saw that the sweater had a hood with two long floppy ears dangling from it. “Molly…”

“I, ah, had some extra yarn,” Molly said innocently.

“Oh my god, you’re a bunny!” Sirius scooped the baby into his lap, holding the ears up. Teddy twisted and tried to look up at the hood on his head, uncomprehending. “It’s amazing! Molly, you’re a treasure. Can I have ears next year too?”

“You’re too old for ears,” Molly said firmly.

“Tell that to Padfoot.”

“Oh, Molly, you shouldn’t have!” Dora said as she unwrapped her sweater, which had vivid purple and green stripes. From her tone, it was evident that this was her first Molly-sweater.

“Don’t be silly,” Molly said. “You’re Teddy’s mother. You’re practically family now.”

“You _are_ family now, no escaping it,” George said with dramatic flair. “From the moment you receive your first mom-sweater to the day the gods of time un-knit the very fabric of our existence, you are an Honorary Weasley.”

“So you’d better put it on,” Fred said. “You’re one of us now.”

Dora smiled and looked at the sweater a little hesitantly, but when the twins and several other people in the room started to chant _one of us, one of us,_ she relented and put it on, laughing and waving off the resulting applause. Andromeda and Ted, also new recipients of the yearly tradition, followed suit.

“This one next!” Harry said, picking up a present that had fallen to the ground. Sirius let the squirming Teddy slide off his lap and unwrapped it.

“Oh, fuck yes!” It was Sirius’ very own black leather jacket, his best one with the extra zips and flaps.

“It’s a bit beat up,” Harry said apologetically. “I wore it a lot when we were on the run.”

“You were on the run?” Sirius asked, nearly quivering with excitement. He had missed so much cool stuff. “You were _on the run_ and you _wore my jacket?_ Harry, that’s so punk rock!” He held up the jacket to admire it for a moment before putting it on over his sweater. They went together surprisingly well. “Oh, man, it has scorch marks on it! This is totally badass.”

Harry grinned. “Remus said you wouldn't mind.”

“My Moony knows me so well,” Sirius said with a contented sigh.

“Last one,” Charlie said, handing him the little package that had puzzled Sirius before. Underneath the wrapping was a small jewelry box.

“Oh my,” Sirius said jokingly. “Charlie, my love, I thought you’d never ask!”

“Don’t be an arse. Open it.”

The box contained, not a ring, but a two inch long bolt.

“Oh, wow,” Sirius said with quiet awe. To anyone else, it would have been just a piece of slightly greasy hardware, but he knew exactly where it had come from. “Where did you get this?”

“Go look out back,” Charlie said, grinning.

“No way!” Sirius was already off the couch by the time he had finished talking. He skidded through the newly gorgeous hallways, burst out the back door, and there she was. “No way, no way, _no way!”_

His motorcycle was not only there, she looked fantastic. Every piece of chrome was gleaming, and the studded black leather seat looked absolutely glamorous, nearly new. By the time everyone else got outside, he was already sitting in pride of place revving the engine.

“It’s from me and Dad, really,” Charlie said, handing him a helmet. “He helped me fix it up last summer.”

“You guys are the best!” Sirius said. “Hey, Remus, want a ride?”

“In your dreams,” Remus said dryly. “I wouldn't ride that death trap when you were sixteen, and I won’t ride it now.”

Sirius grinned, because he could remember a few times Remus had ridden the motorcycle, although they hadn't actually left the ground or gone anywhere at all. He wondered if Charlie had found the handcuffs in the secret storage compartment under the seat.

“I’ll ride it!” Harry said.

“Yes, you will,” Sirius agreed. “Somebody get him a helmet.”

While they were waiting for Arthur to get the extra helmet from wherever he had hidden it, Sirius dismounted so he could give the flight charms a good once-over, seeing as Harry would be going up on it. He didn't fancy the prospect of his eventual return to the afterlife if he dumped Harry from two kilometers up. Lily didn't make idle threats. Harry cast a warming bubble and knelt beside him in the snow.

“So, when we got it out of storage, Remus let it slip that you named it something, but he wouldn't say what.”

“Sirius, don’t you dare!” Remus called, overhearing.

Sirius laughed and told Harry in an undertone, “Someday he’ll learn never to dare me.”

“I am not daring you!” Remus said, entering the sphere of the bubble with Teddy in his arms. “In fact, I dare you _not_ to tell him.”

“Too late!” Sirius said cheerfully, swinging himself up onto the seat again. “Harry…meet Lily.”

Harry looked down at the bike, obviously disappointed. “Oh. I thought it would be something inappropriate.”

“I haven't told you _why_ yet,” Sirius said.

Harry glanced at Remus, who was preemptively covering Teddy’s ears. “Uh…why?”

“For the same reason I do anything, Harry. To drive your dad round the bend.” He raised his head and called out to the sky, “Oi, Prongs! Nice day isn't it! I think I'll go get Lily all oiled up, take her for a nice…long… _ride!”_ He cackled and smugly revved the engine again, impervious to the shell-shocked look on Harry’s face and the wide eyes of the crowd behind him. “It got him riled up every time, especially in the beginning when she wouldn't even talk to him. Good times.”

“Are you done?” Remus asked with a long-suffering sigh.

“For now,” Sirius said. He waited until Remus had started to take his hands off Teddy’s ears before adding, “Although in this weather I wouldn't be surprised if I end up putting her away wet.”

“ _Sirius!”_

“Oh, look, Harry, here’s your helmet!” Sirius grabbed the helmet from Arthur and shoved it onto Harry, who was still staring at Sirius and the bike with his mouth hanging open. “Come on, sprog. We’ve got reprimands to avoid.”

He pulled Harry up behind him, winking unashamedly at the still-scowling Remus, and took them into the sky, activating the invisibility booster once they got above the garden wall so they wouldn't traumatize any Muggles.

Harry soon forgot to feel awkward and whooped with excitement when Sirius pulled a few loops. The kid really was a natural in the sky. Sirius cut the engine, which was just for show once they were up in the air.

“Did Charlie teach you to fly it?”

“No,” Harry said. “Is it like a broom?”

“A bit. Do you wanna learn?”

“Sure!” He could feel Harry’s helmet nodding enthusiastically behind his back.

“Sweet. You know, I didn't have a lot of time to make plans for what I was going to do once I got back, but this was one of, I think, three things I wanted to do with you. The second was to teach you to pull girls, but I seem to have missed the boat on that.”

Harry laughed. “I suppose so. Although sometimes I still feel like I don't know much about girls.”

“Well, I can’t help you there. That’s the straight man’s burden, sprog.” He paused, giving Harry an opening to say he swung both ways, but Harry said nothing. “You happy?”

“With Ginny? Yeah. She’s…she likes me for who I am, not because I’m The Boy Who Lived or something. She’s amazing.” He sighed in a lovesick way that told Sirius even more than his words did.

“Good. That’s the important bit, right? That people see you for yourself.” He sighed. “I’m sorry I didn’t.”

“Didn't what?”

Sirius swallowed, looking around at the cloudy afternoon sky. The snow was still coming down, but slowly. The little flakes melted when they landed on the warmer parts of the bike. “I wanted you to be another James so much that I never got to know you for yourself. I just loved your dad so much. I never did figure out what to do without him around. And, honestly, I wasn’t quite right in the head after Azkaban.”

“It’s all right, Sirius. I'm not upset, really.”

“Still. I'm going to do better.”

Harry wrapped his arms around Sirius’ waist more tightly, and his helmet rested securely in the center of Sirius’ back. After a while, he asked, “You said there were three things?”

“Yep. Gotta show you how to roll a joint.”

“Oh, Remus already showed me that.”

“Really?” Sirius laughed. “So he finally came around on that, huh? That’s awesome. Merlin, I missed him—missed you both. It was a long time for me, you know.”

“Longer than two and a half years?”

“Yeah, I think so. A lot longer.”

Sirius steered them around in a wide circle, enjoying the view of the snow-covered Muggle rooftops and empty streets. The whole city had that fresh look that only snow could bring. He turned enough that he could see Harry out of the corner of his eye.

“Your dad’s real proud of you, being on the Gryffindor team and all. Won’t shut up about it.”

“Really?” Harry grinned, biting his lip. “I was thinking I might try out for a team once things die down at the Ministry a bit. Not professional like Ginny, I wouldn’t have time, but there’s lots of teams for neighborhoods and stuff.” His smile faded. “Only I know they’ll automatically let me on any team just because I'm Harry Potter. They won't even care if I'm any good.”

“Huh. Sounds like you need a secret identity.”

“Like a superhero?”

“Yeah. We’ll get you fixed up with some good magic, hide that scar, change your hair maybe, and tada! They’ll have to take you or leave you on merit alone.”

Harry seemed enamored with this idea, and they talked over the details until they got too cold to stay up anymore. By the time they landed again, everyone had gone back inside except Remus, who was leaning up against the side of the house in a fading warming bubble with Teddy napping in his arms.

“They’re opening presents,” Remus explained. “Did you have fun?”

“‘Course!” Sirius said cheerfully. “Lily’s always ready to give a couple of fit blokes a go.”

Harry groaned as he pulled off his helmet. “You’re making this so weird for me.”

Sirius just clapped him on the shoulder and rolled his bike past the muffled screams of his mother’s portrait, which was still being crushed under a pile of hideous furniture. The silencing charm had worn off, but no one was listening to her anymore. He smugly brought the bike right into the house, although he did charm it dry so it wouldn’t damage the newly refinished floors. 

“How come you weren’t in there with them?” he asked Remus while Harry was brushing snow off his shoes. 

Remus shrugged, avoiding his eyes. “Just wanted to watch you two fly.” 

Sirius felt a little upwelling, something sweet, something sad. He put his palm in between Remus’ shoulder blades and whispered, “It’s all right. I’m not going anywhere.” 

He felt the shudder as Remus took a deep breath. “Thanks, Pads.” 

They found Dora in the parlor in the middle of a mountain of partially unwrapped presents for Teddy, looking overwhelmed by the heaps of brightly colored toys and baby shirts that said things like, “I love my fourth-cousin.”

Remus sighed. “I told you guys we don’t need all this stuff.” 

Each person protested that they had only gotten Teddy a few things, but it still took another hour to get through it all, especially now that Remus was there surreptitiously examining and taking notes on each item, working one-handed so as not to disturb Teddy’s nap. Sirius watched him fondly. He was probably planning to write detailed thank you notes for each one.

Sirius took advantage of Remus’ distraction to pull Molly aside to beg a favor. A few minutes later the two of them were secreted away in the first-floor bathroom, and little snippets of Sirius’ hair were falling to the floor.

“Not too much! I just don’t want it to be all raggedy.” Sirius anxiously gestured again at the length he wanted, just below his shoulders, well aware that Molly’s preferred style was the short, business-like cut that she always gave Percy.

“Honestly, you’re as bad as Bill,” she scolded, but she managed to restrain herself, and Sirius was satisfied with the result.

“Perhaps a shower,” she suggested delicately when Sirius would have simply brushed the cut ends off his clothing. “And I can find something clean for you to borrow.”

“Thanks, Molly,” Sirius said appreciatively. She waved her wand to clean the floor and counter, and he started to unbutton his shirt.

Molly made a shocked noise, and Sirius froze with his shirt halfway off his shoulders, thinking he had offended her by undressing, but she was looking at the newly revealed skin of his upper arm. “That’s actually quite…”

“What?” Sirius could feel himself turning bright red. Nothing in life or the afterlife had prepared him for the possibility of Molly Weasley checking him out, which is what she appeared to be doing.

“Your tattoo.”

“I don’t have a—” He broke off, because there _was_ a tattoo, or something that looked like one. His left upper arm had a large splash of color on it. He let his shirt fall and craned his head to stare at it.

It was an empty Butterbeer bottle, just like his life’s fire had been those last few hours in the afterlife. For such a simple design, it was incredibly detailed, with well-defined lines and nuanced shading. There was a small splash of Butterbeer in the bottom of the bottle, and a single golden drop clung to the rim, as if someone had just taken a sip. As Sirius watched, the drop quivered and slid down the side of the bottle, sudden, glistening, almost sexual in its realism. Only the label was different from a real bottle of Butterbeer. In place of the usual logo, there were three familiar symbols: a rack of antlers in deep red, a shining silver star, and a moon that was the same golden color as the liquid in the bottle. The antlers curved around the base of the label, supporting the flow of the design, and the golden moon at the top shone as brightly as a sun. The star was in the middle with its rays streaming out to touch them both. As a whole, the tattoo was as lovely as any ink he’d ever seen. It was absolutely exquisite.

Sirius leaned against the counter, closing his eyes briefly to prevent the spill of tears, but he reopened them to look at the design again after only a moment.

“Sirius, what’s wrong?” Molly sounded concerned.

“Nothing.” Sirius took a deep breath and smiled through his tears. “It’s just new. It—it must be from James…”

“You mean you didn’t know it was there?” She looked back and forth between his face and his arm for a few moments, lips pursed in disapproval or worry. “I don’t think too much of tattoos, especially when people are putting them on other people without their knowledge.”

Sirius laughed. “It’s _James_ , Molly. It’s all right. Actually, I love it. I always wanted one, but I was too needle-shy.”

“Hmph. Does it mean something?”

“Yeah.” Sirius ran his fingers over the curving nest of antlers, smiling. “It’s a message, like the one I passed on to Harry. A reminder.”

“You can get them removed, you know…” she trailed off hopefully.

“Not a chance.”

She sighed. “I’ll go get you some clothes. I think Ron’s things might fit you now.”

Sirius stripped as soon as she was gone and checked every inch of his skin, but there were no other additions. Everything else was exactly as it had been on the day he had died. He had a moment of panic as he stepped into the shower, suddenly afraid James’ design would wash away, but he had nothing to fear. The hot water washed away the smell of hippogriff and misery that was still on him from the day he died, but the tattoo remained intact.

He shaved and combed his hair and pulled the top part up with a tie that Molly reluctantly procured for him. He smiled at the result, flicking the crisp, newly trimmed ends of his hair through his fingers. He had often worn his hair like this in school. He no longer looked like he had then, but it didn’t bother him. He wasn’t that person anymore, and he didn’t want to be.

He put on the trousers and sleeveless singlet Molly had brought him but carried the dress shirt, sweater, and leather jacket as he went back into the parlor. Dora was just unwrapping the final presents for Teddy. Remus froze in place when he saw him, just for an instant, and Sirius grinned.

“Check it out.” He turned to show off the new tattoo and was delighted to find a far more appreciative audience than Molly had been.

Hermione and Ron had apparently made sandwiches, and they took them out back. Remus conjured some chairs, and they spent the evening around the most satisfying bonfire Sirius had ever lit. He particularly enjoyed the burbling screams when the fire reached the portrait on the bottom of the pile.

People started to go home. Everyone stopped to give Sirius a few more words and to say goodbye to Teddy, who was adamant about waving goodbye as often as possible, this apparently being a recently acquired skill. By the time the bonfire was dying down, the only people left were those that lived here. Other than Remus and Teddy, this included Harry and Ginny, Hermione and Ron, and Luna. Dora would also stay.

“I’ll watch Teddy tonight,” Dora said. The baby had already fallen asleep in Ginny’s arms.

Remus looked uncertain. “It’s meant to be Ron and Hermione’s turn.”

Sirius raised his eyebrows. He hadn't realized the others took such an active role in raising Teddy, but he was happy to hear Remus had been getting help. Taking care of a baby was an awful lot of work.

“Oh, we don't mind,” Hermione said nervously.

“I’m only in town for a few days. I might as well help,” Dora said, with a touch of defiance in her voice.

Remus took another sip of hot chocolate and stared into the embers of the bonfire. His lips were pressed tightly together, but he didn't say anything.

After a minute Dora sighed and walked towards Ginny, her arms outstretched for the sleeping baby.

“All right,” Remus said quietly, although he obviously wasn't happy about it. He then proceeded to give Dora a long list of instructions including how to prepare Teddy’s bottle, what to do if he woke up at certain times of night, and a dozen other things. Dora listened at first, but she cut him off once the list started to get excessive.

“Stop it, Remus. I can come up with my own songs to sing to him. I know how to take care of a baby.”

“He’s not just ‘a baby,’ he’s _Teddy_ —”

“And I am his mother!” Dora said, voice rising.

“You haven't seen him in six months.” Remus looked and sounded perfectly calm unless you knew him as well as Sirius did. He had spent a significant portion of his time in the afterlife watching Remus through the lens of his own life. Now he saw the tiny twitches, heard the slight pauses in his speech, and knew Remus was absolutely livid.

“ _I_ wanted to take him with me!”

“Which would have been a complete—”

Ginny, who had been hovering nearby with Teddy in her arms this whole time, finally broke in. “Look, you two figure it out. I'm getting cold. I'm taking Teddy inside.”

Sirius, Harry, and the others followed, leaving Dora and Remus by the fading bonfire. Remus glanced anxiously after Sirius, but he didn't immediately follow, choosing to instead list some of the many things Dora had missed. He sounded like a man with something to prove. Sirius stayed within view inside, knowing Remus was watching him through the glass doors.

“So…they’re divorced, right?” he asked the others.

“Since August,” Hermione said.

“And thank Merlin,” Ron mumbled. “You think this is awkward? Dora gets pretty intense when she’s angry. Makes my mum look like a pygmy puff.”

“It’s not surprising,” Luna said. “Their auras are completely unsuited to each other. I'm sure they would never have gotten married if it hadn't been for the Parvimonious Nargle.”

“Nargle?” Sirius asked.

“No, a _Parvimonious_ Nargle,” Luna corrected him. “They’re much smaller than a regular Nargle, so they can be inhaled. They infest the brain and induce people towards unwise romantic bonding.”

There was a long silence. No one seemed to want to meet Sirius’ eyes.

“I…hadn’t heard of that,” Sirius said skeptically.

“Many people haven't, and it’s quite tragic. They may account for as many as sixty-eight percent of failed marriages,” Luna said confidently.

“Or maybe they just made a mistake,” Hermione said, with the delicate air of someone who was trying very hard to be polite.

”Does Remus have sole custody then?” Sirius asked, trying to turn the conversation back towards solid ground.

Everyone looked at Harry, who shuffled his feet and cleared his throat. “Actually…I’m Teddy’s guardian. The court wouldn't let Remus because…well.”

“Because he’s a werewolf,” Sirius finished unhappily, no longer in any doubt about what Remus was trying to prove.

“Right. But Dora’s not exactly the stay-at-home-mom type. So I was the compromise. The court ruled Remus can live in the same house long as he’s on Wolfsbane and I’m the one in charge of Teddy’s safety.”

Sirius nodded. “I guess they figure if you can bring down Lord Voldemort you can protect a baby from a werewolf on Wolfsbane.” The group has spent most of the evening filling Sirius in on Voldemort’s downfall.

“Harry is an excellent guardian,” Luna said with sudden fervor. “We all help with Teddy. His family is large and full of love.”

They all looked at the sweater-clad baby sleeping in Ginny’s arms, and it was clearly true. Sirius could feel the love rolling off of them. Even Teddy seemed to feel it on some level, because he stirred, smiling a bit in his sleep. His hair had been pale blonde like Luna’s all afternoon.

“I'm glad,” Sirius said. He glanced back out the window. Remus was sitting calmly, just as he had been, but Dora was standing over him gesticulating wildly. “But I think someone should break those two up.”

“Not recommended,” Ron said bluntly.

Sirius shrugged. “Watch this.”

He purposely stepped away from the door and led the others out into the main part of the hall, out of Remus’ line of sight. Sure enough, hardly another minute passed before Remus came striding in, eyes seeking out Sirius immediately. Dora followed and reached out confidently to take Teddy. Ginny looked at Remus for confirmation before handing the baby over. For all their lack of faith, Dora was very gentle and looked down at her sleeping son with real warmth as she carried him upstairs to the guest bedroom.

Remus watched them go, brow wrinkled with worry.

“It’ll be all right,” Harry said soothingly. “It’s only one night.”

“Right.” Remus sighed, obviously not much comforted. Fortunately, Sirius knew the perfect way to get his mind off it.

“I’m knackered,” he said, stretching and yawning in demonstration. “I've got a room, but we seem to have burned all the furniture that was in it.”

Harry lit up and was obviously about to volunteer his own bed—surely not an idea Ginny would approve of—but fortunately, Remus beat him to it. “You can stay with me, of course.”

The group headed upstairs, with both Remus and Harry sticking close to him the whole way.

“Oh, I didn't tell you about Bill and Fleur’s wedding yet!” Harry said while the others were saying goodnight. He edged into Remus’ bedroom, obviously not ready to say goodnight himself.

“Harry, don’t you think you should let Remus and Sirius…rest?” Hermione said, glancing between Sirius and Remus in a way that seemed to go right over Harry’s head.

“It’s all right,” Sirius said when he saw Harry deflate. “I've got some more things to tell you about too, Harry.”

He guided Harry the rest of the way into the room with a hand on his shoulder, calling goodnight to the others as Remus shut the door. The three of them settled on Remus’ bed, which was still overlarge, a holdover from before Sirius had died, when he hadn’t been able to touch Remus at all without cringing away. Too much love, James had said…too much love in Remus, and not enough soul left in Sirius to accept it anymore.

He hadn't told the larger group about the murders and the damage his soul had suffered as a result, but knew he had to tell Harry, even though he didn't want to.

“Did you kill anyone?” he finally made himself ask, once Harry’s current story started to wind down.

“Yes,” Harry said after a moment, obviously taken aback. “I told you earlier, Voldemort—”

“No, Harry, you said his own curse reflected back onto him. You didn't cast it.” Sirius wasn't sure such a technicality would protect Harry’s soul, but he could hope. “Was that it?”

“We’ve already checked, Sirius,” Remus said quietly. “McGonagall lent me the _almatheometer.”_

“Oh, you’re talking about my soul,” Harry said. “It's getting better. I hardly notice it now.”

“Notice what?” Sirius asked, suddenly sick with worry.

“Harry served as a partial Horcrux for Voldemort’s soul,” Remus said. “When Voldemort tried to kill Harry, he instead killed the piece of his own soul that had been inside Harry since James and Lily died.”

“Once it was gone it left, like, holes,” Harry said, “because my own soul grew up around it since I was a baby. But I’m healing, bit by bit. Hermione thinks my soul was forced to grow cramped in the space that Voldemort’s soul fragment wasn't taking up, and now mine has been expanding back to the size it should have been all along.”

“What about you, Sirius?” Remus asked quietly. “I always wondered…”

“Yeah, it was pretty bad, although I didn't notice, not directly. Or I didn't know what I was noticing. Maybe it's part of the reason I was so batty. But then…James.” Sirius explained what had he had done, the consequences, and how James had rescued the lost pieces of his soul. After a while, he got sidetracked into stories about James and about Harry’s childhood, but both of his listeners were more than eager for both.

“You're like Jesus,” Harry said a long while later when they were all starting to droop with exhaustion.

“Merlin’s fucktoy, I am _nothing_ like Jesus,” Sirius said, nearly choking on a sudden burst of laughter. 

“You did get resurrected,” Remus pointed out. “It’s not exactly common.”

“Still. I’m no Jesus.”

“You mean you don’t have any words of cosmic wisdom to pass on to us mortals?” Remus teased.

Sirius leapt to his feet, spreading his arms for dramatic effect and to help him balance on the mattress. “I, Sirius Orion Black, have returned from the afterlife to pass on this message! I solemnly declare…” he paused to give himself a little drumroll on the bedpost above Remus’ head, “that I am up to _no good._ ”

He flopped back onto the bed between them, basking in Harry’s delighted laughter.

“That was a bit anticlimactic.” Remus gave him an indulgent smile _._

“I’m a work in progress,” Sirius said smoothly.

Then Harry started filling him in on what had happened to the Map since Sirius had left school. It was interesting, but Sirius found himself paying more attention to the view out of Remus’ window instead. His head was hanging off the bed a little, and now that the clouds had cleared he could just make out a few constellations through the ambient light pollution of the city.

“Actually,” he said quietly, unintentionally interrupting Harry. “I do have something to say.” Harry stopped at once, and Sirius closed his eyes, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious. “I think you have to love people…and let them love you.”

They were both very quiet then, and Sirius felt their attention like twin spotlights, pointed right at him, giving him strength. “When I died, it was like…” He gathered his fingers together in front of his chest and then spread them out wide, but the gesture was inadequate. “Do you know what happens when a star dies?”

“It explodes,” Harry said.

“Yeah, a supernova,” Sirius said. “But an explosion sounds too forceful. It was more like…if the gravity that held the star together suddenly stopped existing, and all the parts of it just drifted away…until every bit of it was spread out, all over the universe. Vast…untethered.”

He trailed off, seeing the darkness of that ending again behind his closed eyelids. After a minute, he opened his eyes and looked out Remus’ window at the real stars.

“Then James found me. I think he must have had to find every second of me, every atom, one piece at a time.” He sighed, remembering the relief of being gathered, held, and put back together. “That is a lot of love. Without it, I think I really would have been…lost.”

“No,” Remus spoke up, so suddenly and forcefully that Sirius raised his head to look at him. Remus was leaning forward, and his voice was strained with emotion. “I would have found you. I wouldn’t—I wouldn't have let anything stop me.”

“Yeah,” Sirius lifted himself up on his elbows, letting himself really take in the undeniable devotion in Remus’ eyes. He could feel the warm glow of it, even with empty space nearly the length of their bodies separating them. “I think you would have. I will for you too someday, Moons.” He turned his smile on Harry. “I’d say the same for you, but I’d have to fight your mum for it. She positively adores you, you know.”

To his surprise, Harry didn't respond or even seem to be listening. He was gripping Remus’ duvet hard with both hands by his sides, and his eyes were beginning to overflow with tears. “Harry? What’s wrong?”

Harry gulped, and it ended in a sob. “I-I'm sorry!”

“What? Why?” Sirius sat up and moved closer to him on the bed. He thought about putting his arms around him, but Remus beat him to it.

“Because it was my fault!” Harry said through his tears, as if it should have been obvious.

“No, it wasn't, Harry,” Remus said calmly. “It was Voldemort’s plot, and Bellatrix killed Sirius.”

“And it didn't stick! See, I bounced right back, all shiny and new!” Sirius said, smiling, trying to cheer him up. But Harry hardly seemed to hear him, and Sirius recognized the stubborn deafness that trauma and shame could bring.

“I shouldn't have believed it! I should have trusted Dumbledore and Snape and tried harder to shield my mind or waited for help—”

“You were just a child,” Remus said. “You can't expect yourself to have mastered one of the most difficult magical disciplines when you were only sixteen, after just a few lessons.”

“It wouldn't have mattered, anyways,” Sirius said quietly, and where his falsely-bright reassurances had been ignored, the pain in his voice got Harry’s attention. “You would have lost me, one way or another, probably in a matter of months.” They both looked at him with alarm then, and he sighed. He hadn't made any plans to kill himself, but looking back he could tell it would only have been a matter of time. “Harry, by the time you knew me, there was almost nothing left. I tried to hide it, but I was a shadow of a person, a fragment. Remus knows.” He scrubbed his hand over his face and made himself keep talking so he wouldn't have to hear Remus’ false reassurances. “James said that nothing ever happens that isn't supposed to. This is like that. So please don't blame yourself. I can’t stand it.”

“S-sorry,” Harry said.

“Don't apologize! Merlin, you're almost as bad as him.” He jerked his thumb towards Remus. “He’s got a real skill for it, actually. He was our designated apologizer back in the day. He never failed to bring McGonagall’s fury down a notch or two, even when we stole her clothes and dressed up all the suits of armor to look like her.”

“You did that?” Harry turned to look up at Remus in astonishment.

“He wouldn’t steal the clothes, but he did help charm the suits of armor to talk in Scottish accents,” Sirius answered for him. “It was his idea, even. I bet he hasn’t told you much about his wild school days, huh?”

“I have, actually,” Remus said, absently running his fingers through Harry’s hair. “I wanted Harry to know about his father and…and you.”

He avoided Sirius’ eyes, and Sirius felt his heart twist at the thought of Remus telling stories about him, as if he would never be back to tell those stories himself.

“Thanks for keeping my legend alive,” he said lightly, nudging Remus’ leg with his foot until Remus looked up to meet his eyes again. “I can take it from here. I don’t trust you not to tell the less flattering stories. We wouldn’t want Harry and Teddy to grow up thinking I was anything less than a magnificent punk god of prankdom.” He grinned, giving Remus another, more playful nudge. “I still can’t believe you have a _baby,_ Moony!”

For some reason, this made Remus look away again, his face troubled, as if he had just thought of something.

“What’s wrong?” Sirius asked.

“Nothing, just…” Remus glanced down at Harry before continuing, choosing his words with care. “I do have Teddy now. Harry and the others have been helping me—”

“You want me to help too?” Sirius leaned forward, excited. “Of course I—” He broke off, seeing the pained look on Remus’ face. “Oh. No, that’s not it at all, is it? You want me to stay away.”

“No!” Remus said, lurching forward and dislodging Harry, who had been listening with quiet nervousness. “Never that. I’m just—I’m just worried. You seem so well, but…” He swallowed, and his voice became very quiet, very sad. “It’s always been ups and down with you. I’ve never minded, but now…there’s Teddy. He’s only nine months old, Sirius. He won’t understand.”

Emotions flicked through Sirius like the pages of a book ruffled through someone’s fingers: denial, despair, panic, and the kind of anger that a wounded animal might use to lash out at its attacker—but Remus wasn’t his enemy. Sirius made himself take a few deep breaths, made himself think.

Remus was only doing what he had to, to protect his son. Sirius couldn’t really blame anyone for not wanting to expose a baby to the disaster he had been during his last few months at Grimmauld Place. But he didn’t like to think about what that would mean for the two of them. He was sure Remus still wanted them to be together, but Sirius had no doubt he would sacrifice that if he thought his responsibility as a father demanded it.

Where would that leave Sirius? Alone, that’s where, sucked right into the desolate Black hole that had always haunted him. He felt his heart begin to race, but this time he didn’t let the panic take over. Instead, he closed his eyes and made himself turn, internally, to face the pit. He looked right into it for the very first time, looked right into the darkness of his worst fear, and made himself really, actually, _see_ it.

He would have to leave. Remus might be able to handle living together without being together, but Sirius knew he would never be able to hold himself at a distance if they were still so close. So he would spend a day or two visiting and going through the house, making sure there wasn’t anything too useful or sentimental to leave behind. Then he would go and find somewhere to be. Maybe he would go back to Costa Rica, find that abandoned bungalow again, and cook himself in the sun every day. He could bake the pain out with the regular application of warm sunshine and cool blue waters.

Or, if he didn’t want to go so far, there were some flats near the club district that he had always liked the look of. He could find a place like that to settle into while he worked on a Healing apprenticeship. Maybe he could work as a bouncer at The Chamber of Secrets, once he had gotten back in shape a bit. Actually, there were a few people he remembered from those days that he wouldn’t mind catching up with if any of them were still regulars. And there would always be Harry, and the Weasleys, and all their other friends.

It wasn’t what he had planned, but it was, at least, _a_ plan. Leaving Remus would make him miserable, especially in the beginning, but it wouldn’t destroy him. He didn’t think anything could do that now.

“I want what’s best for Teddy,” he said at last, and he was surprised how calm he sounded. He had a sudden, nearly tactile sensation of warmth in the middle of his back, as if there was a hand pressed there, holding him up. It felt like James. “You should be the one to decide what that is. But please don’t doubt…I’ll do anything to make it feel all right.” He brightened at a sudden idea. “Hey, I’m not a fugitive anymore. I can finally get therapy if I need it. Actually, I think I’ll do that anyways.”

That had been one of the cruelest aspects of his situation. Even once he had finally accepted that he was desperately in need of help, there had been no way to get it. To his relief, that was no longer true, and it never would be again.

Remus seemed equally relieved by this idea. He smiled, and the creases in his forehead lifted away. “That’s a wonderful idea.”

“Maybe you could see Joyce,” Harry said. “That’s my therapist. She’s a witch, and she specializes in…um, high-profile clients.”

“Oh, nice, a ritzy therapist,” Sirius said. “I bet she’s got the comfiest kind of couch.”

“She does, actually,” Harry said.

“Perfect.”

“But you’re going to stay here, regardless of whether you take care of Teddy or not, right?” Harry asked.

Sirius looked at Remus, whose eyes went wide.

“Of course!” Remus said. Clearly, that had never even been a question in his mind.

“Of course,” Sirius repeated and leaned forward to ruffle Harry’s hair affectionately. “You two have been living the responsible adult life for far too long. You’ll need me around to shake things up.”

After that, the conversation turned back towards stories of their time at school. To Sirius’ dismay, Harry seemed particularly interested in persuading Remus to tell the less-than-flattering type of story of Sirius’ youth, but it was hard to actually be offended when they were both enjoying themselves so much. Besides, Sirius gave as good as he got. He had no shortage of embarrassing stories about Remus, even if he stayed away from the ones of the more adult variety, as he sensed Remus wanted him to do.

Meanwhile, Remus let Harry ease out of his arms the rest of the way and moved back to lean against the headboard. He appeared wholly engaged in the conversation, often interrupting Sirius to make corrections (which were invariably wrong), but after a little while his knee drifted over to press against the outside edge of Sirius’ thigh.

That little touch was all it took to set Sirius’ insides alight. From anyone else it might have been meaningless, but another man’s accidental contact was Remus’ heartfelt message and desperate plea. Aside from that first public kiss and pre-arranged scenes at The Chamber of Secrets, Remus had always been very circumspect about their relationship. That had only increased after Sirius had returned from Azkaban, as Remus had sunk deep into his Professor mentality, and they hadn't been able to really touch each other anyways. So, as far as public displays of affection went, he might as well have thrown himself into Sirius’ arms, and Sirius was suddenly so full of warmth and excitement that he thought glowing strands of desire might reach out like curling tendrils and drag them together.

Fortunately for both of them, it was quite late, and Harry was starting to nod off.

“Time for bed, I think,” Sirius said at last, pushing back against Remus’ knee with invisible but significant pressure before moving away to give Harry a nudge with his foot. “Off you go, sprog.”

“Oh, I'm not that tired,” Harry said quickly, shaking his head as if to banish the fatigue.

“Yes, you are. And so are we. Go on.” He gave Harry a bigger nudge, pushing him to the edge of the bed. He got up himself and walked Harry to the door, trying to encourage him without outright shoving him into the hall.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you—” Harry started to say, but Sirius cut him off from this transparent attempt to linger.

“Tomorrow, Harry, I promise,” he said kindly.

“It’s not _that_ late,” Harry protested, glancing out at the clock at the end of the hall. He brightened at a sudden idea. “I could make coffee!”

Sirius laughed and wrapped an arm around Harry’s shoulders. “Remus and I are too old to pull an all-nighter. Besides…he and I have some catching up to do, just the two of us, you know?”

Harry obviously didn't know. His face fell. “Oh. But I could—maybe I could sleep here. It’s a big bed…I don't care if you talk.”

“Harry…” Sirius trailed off uncertainly. No one could be this oblivious, not even Harry. Not unless… “You don’t know. He never told you?” He whirled to look at Remus, who was still on the bed and had a bit of a guilty air. He had thought Remus was just being polite, not that he was actually trying to hide something. “You didn't even tell _Harry?_ Not even when I _died_ , Moony?”

“No,” Remus said quickly, “and there’s no need—”

“No, Remus. No, fuck that. I didn't come back to life just to go back into the bloody closet. No fucking way.”

“Sirius—”

But Sirius just shook his head and turned back to Harry. It had been his own idea, originally, to wait to tell Harry about their relationship. Harry had grown up with the Dursleys, some of the most hateful people Sirius had ever known, and that was really saying something. They had hated Lily for being a witch, they had hated James for not being white, and once they had seen Sirius give Remus a quick twirl around the dance floor at James and Lily’s wedding—well, they had hated the two of them too. Sirius thought it was reasonable to hope that Harry would have resisted embracing their values, but one never knew. So he had put off telling Harry. He had meant for it to be a temporary thing, just until he felt able to handle however Harry might react, but that day had never come. It was here now.

“Remus and I are in love,” he said bluntly. “We’ve been together since we were your age. With, um, varying levels of success.” He paused, trying to gauge Harry’s reaction. Harry’s eyes were wide, but his face was blank, obviously hardly processing this revelation. Sirius forced himself to continue, plastering a bravado-filled smile on his face. “So…yeah. You can see why the two of us have a lot to talk about. And…hopefully…do.”

Harry’s eyes got even bigger if that were possible, and he looked back and forth between Sirius and Remus repeatedly. His face moved swiftly through several emotions that were a bit hard to decipher, but at least none of them seemed to be disgust. Then he moved in a sudden, jerky rush and wrapped his arms around Sirius. He squeezed hard, pinning Sirius’ arms to his sides and squashing his face against Sirius’ shoulder, making his glasses dig into the side of Sirius’ neck. Sirius let out a breath of relief and hugged him back, awkward with the restricted movement.

“I didn’t know,” Harry said, talking quickly. “Maybe I would have if I’d thought about it, but I didn’t. I don’t care. Just—” His breath hitched, and Sirius realized Harry was trying to hide a new rush of tears. “Please don’t make me leave.”

“Oh, Harry,” Sirius said softly, suddenly understanding that Remus wasn’t the only one who was anxious about him disappearing. “It’s all right. I’m not going to float away while you sleep, I promise.”

“What if you don’t know!” Harry said fiercely into the fabric of Sirius’ robes. “You’re like a ghost or something. How do you know you won’t just—go back?”

“Because your dad wouldn’t lie to me,” Sirius said firmly. He took Harry’s head in his hands, turning his face up to look at him. Harry’s glasses were cloudy and crooked from being pressed against Sirius’ shoulder while he cried. “Do I look like a ghost to you? I’m not going anywhere. I plan on being alive for a long time.” He laughed. “I joke about being old, but I’m only thirty-seven!”

“Thirty-nine,” Remus said from the bed.

“Huh,” Sirius said. “Well, I suppose that’s debatable. But, regardless…I saw my life, you know, the whole thing. Not what happens in it, but the size of it. I don’t think I’m even halfway through. That’s forty-plus years I get to hang around here.” He smiled and straightened Harry’s glasses on his face. “And I hope I can spend every day of it with the two of you. So if you would both please just stop fussing…”

“Right,” Harry said timidly. “All right.” He took a deep breath and scrubbed at the trails of tears on his face with the sleeve of his sweater. “Sorry for being such a wet blanket.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Sirius said. “Everybody cries, Harry. Remus taught me that, and your dad too.”

Harry nodded blearily, swallowed, and looked down at his shoes for a moment. Then he pulled Sirius in for another awkward hug, mumbling, “I love you.”

Sirius grinned and squeezed Harry’s shoulders, then shoved him away. “I love you too, sprog. Now scram.”

“See you in the morning?” Despite all Sirius’ reassurances, there was still a question in Harry’s voice, but at least he was now fully out in the hall and starting to turn away.

“Definitely,” Sirius said. “Good night, Harry.”

“Good night.”

Sirius watched Harry go across the hall to his own room. Harry turned back for one last smile, which Sirius confidently returned, then, finally, he was gone.

Sirius shut Remus’ door and stood still for a moment, listening to the sudden quiet of the house after the long day of company and busyness. When he had last lived here, the silence had plagued him, creeping into his ears and filling his insides with lonely darkness. Now, with so many people living here, the quiet was just a breathing out, a natural part of the peaceful rhythm of day and night in a family home.

“You've never said that before,” Remus said, and Sirius felt his face lift up into a smile. He turned around and rejoined Remus on the bed, daringly moving to sit right in his lap, straddling him. Remus sucked in a slow breath through his nose and carefully put his hands on Sirius’ thighs. He was shaking a bit, Sirius noticed with pleasure.

“Only because I've been a total coward,” Sirius said. He didn't have to wonder what, out of all the things he had said to Harry just now, Remus was referring to. “I love you.”

The words had exactly the effect Sirius had hoped for. Remus’ whole face lit up, radiant, giving, and beautiful. Sirius couldn't believe how long it had taken for him to understand that Remus’ love wasn't a torch to carry or a fire to fear. Sirius had watched Remus move through his life like a quiet, supportive shadow. He had seen the way Remus had watched him when he wasn't looking, with a thousand different flavors of love in his eyes—some of them painful, but Remus had never wavered, not in the ways that truly mattered. And all he had ever asked for in return was respect and a bit of thoughtfulness.

Remus’ love was bright, but it wasn’t the fragile or dangerous kind of fire. It was more like the sun, self-sustaining, brilliant, and unchanging. It wasn't something Sirius could own. It didn't even matter if he was worthy or not. It was simply there, like the sunshine. It had always been there, even when Sirius himself had been too cloudy to see it. He had been trapped in the dark, obsessing over the tiny shaft of light that had fallen on his palm, not realizing that if he had only reached up, he could have torn away the shutters to bask in the fullness of Remus’ glow.

“I think I've loved you since the day I met you,” Sirius continued softly. “I’ve loved you in a dozen different ways, and I didn't understand half of them. I do now.”

He wrapped his hands around Remus’ arms, sliding slowly upwards, feeling the contours of him through his sleeves. He was dying to touch him properly, but he held himself back. It hadn't escaped his notice that Remus was apparently not aware that skin-to-skin contact was possible now. Remus had been carefully solicitous in avoiding touch all day, just like he had been back before Sirius had died. Sirius was sure that caution was no longer necessary—his soul was whole again, after all—but he had avoided touching Remus too, wanting to wait for the right moment. He figured he should get at least one proper dramatic reveal out of this experience.

“I love you too,” Remus whispered, low and intense. “Always.”

Sirius nodded happily. “I know. I‘ve been watching you. I’d have to be Harry not to notice.”

Remus laughed. “Cocky.”

“I try.” Sirius leaned forward, sliding his hands over Remus’ chest. “Now. Is there anything else we should talk about, or can we move on to the ‘doing things’ part of the evening?”

“Can I…” Remus trailed off, seeming to lose the thread of his words as he stared at Sirius’ face—at his mouth—with dark, vivid eyes. “Sirius. Can I touch you?”

Sirius grinned and leaned forward more, slowly, until their faces were side by side and his lips were just an inch away from Remus’ ear. This was his moment, the grand reveal. He had the perfect line prepared. He had been thinking about it all day. It even had a pun in it—but Remus was so close, so warm. Sirius was suddenly completely absorbed in the feel Remus’ breaths skating across his cheek and neck. They were random and jerky, like the wings of a bird that had been caught in someone’s hand and was still trying to fly, although the only person holding Remus back was himself. He was frozen rigidly in place, obviously still not wanting to touch without permission. Sirius found himself frozen too. His clever line was forgotten, and he was focused only on the force that was trying to pull them together. He could have sworn he could feel it arcing between them, as strong as the electrostatic charge between damp soil and stormy thunderclouds above.

Remus’ hands gripped Sirius’ thighs tightly, and he made a small, needy sound that was so quiet Sirius probably wouldn’t have heard it if he had been any further away. It was enough. Sirius opened his mouth, but instead of speaking, he let the energy have its way with him, let the lightning strike, and simply pressed his parted lips to Remus’ cheek, right in front of his ear.

As far as grand reveals went, actions seemed to be more effective than words. Remus shuddered all over, and he made a short, desperate, sobbing sound that went straight to Sirius’ cock, which was already more than prepared for the evening’s entertainment. Before he could even begin, though, Remus’ hands shot up to the back of Sirius’ head, and he yanked Sirius around for a kiss that had been brewing between them for many long years. A second later, Remus pushed hard, shoving Sirius straight backwards so he landed on his back with Remus between his legs, only narrowly missing hitting his head on the footboard of the bed. All the while, Remus kissed him with so much energy that Sirius could hardly get a move in himself.

Remus let their lips part just enough to gasp out a couple words against Sirius’ chin, and Sirius jerked all over as he was, quite suddenly, quite completely, naked.

“Fuck,” he said against Remus’ mouth, “You didn’t use to be able to do _that_ wandless.”

Remus didn’t even try to respond. His hands were already everywhere, one sliding down Sirius’ chest, one curving around the bone of his hip like it remembered every shape and plane of him. Sirius groaned and clutched at the fabric of Remus’ shirt—Remus had made no attempt to remove his own clothing—and turned his head to give Remus’ lips better access to his neck. It was then that he heard a rather strange, upset sound, a sound that hadn’t come from either of them.

Sirius’ eyes flew open, and there was Harry, standing in the doorway with his hands over his eyes and mortification showing clearly in every line of his body. “Harry!”

It was probably the only thing he could have said that could have made Remus stop. Remus’ head snapped up, but he didn’t move, thankfully, as he was the only thing keeping Sirius’ admittedly infrequently felt sense of modesty intact.

“I—I, um, sorry,” Harry said, voice squeaky with distress. “I forgot m-my wand…”

Remus sat up, which made Sirius make an extremely undignified noise of protest, and snatched up Harry’s wand from where it had been left at the foot of the bed. To Sirius’ delight, Remus simply chucked it in the general direction of Harry’s head.

Any doubts Sirius might have had about Harry’s Seeker abilities were put to rest when Harry’s hand shot out to catch his wand in mid-air, apparently without looking at all. No sooner had his hand closed around it than he was gone, and Remus had drawn his own wand to cast a half dozen spells on the door and the room at large. Sirius, meanwhile, was laughing himself silly.

“You—you just _threw_ it!” Sirius said. “You didn’t even say anything! That may be the craziest thing I’ve ever seen you do.”

“The night is young,” Remus said. That was apparently the extent of the banter he was willing to tolerate, because he had already returned to plundering Sirius’ mouth just as fiercely as before. His hands slid into Sirius’ hair and clenched there, pulling painfully. Sirius winced.

“Remus. _Remus,_ ” he repeated when Remus’ lips blocked his words the first time.

Remus pulled back a bit, and Sirius reached up to touch the fingers in his hair.

“Ease up, huh? I’m not going anywhere,” Sirius reminded him. 

Remus looked down at him for a moment, then he nodded and took a deep breath. He relaxed his hands, releasing Sirius’ hair and letting his nails trail gently over his scalp instead.

“Fuck,” Sirius whispered as Remus’ fingers sent shivers down his spine. “Fuck, that feels good. Get this off.” He tugged at Remus’ clothes. Remus had banished Sirius’ wand to the ground along with his clothes, so he couldn’t do it himself, not without sacrificing their closeness to do it manually. Remus had already lost his glasses somewhere along the way.

Sirius brushed his thumb across Remus’ lips while he said the undressing spell, then pushed his hips up against the sudden wealth of skin that was revealed. Remus gasped, and Sirius lifted his head to kiss him, gently this time.

Remus’ lips were just the same as Sirius remembered, soft, needy, and willing, but the rest of him was much softer. The harsh juts of hip and rib that Sirius had known so well were now sheltered by a healthy layer of fat. Sirius probably had Harry to thank for that. Even Remus’ hands seemed to be softer. They moved over Sirius’ body with slow reverence, mapping every part of him they could reach, pulling them closer together. Their hips rolled in a pattern Sirius remembered well, and the rhythm was much slower now that Sirius had found a way to quiet Remus down.

It wasn’t just Remus that was different, Sirius realized as Remus turned his hand to trail his knuckles delicately along Sirius’ side. He would never have let Remus do this before. He had hardly let Remus touch him at all. He had always been so worried about losing focus that he had only ever let Remus touch him in the briefest of ways, and he had never let _anyone_ pin him down like this, on his back with his legs spread, bare and vulnerable. Somehow, something inside him had come unknotted, as if some scar tissue had smoothed itself out. He was no longer afraid of giving up control. Remus shifted down a bit so their cocks began to slide directly against each other, and his lips pulled softly on this skin of Sirius’ neck, and Sirius finally started to understand how much he had been missing all this time.

It should have seemed tame, but this felt as good as anything they had ever done together. It made him wonder just how much he had changed. After all, he now knew where are least some of his kinks had come from. Did that mean they were gone? The thought made him uneasy, but instead of letting himself slide down into worry, he decided to perform a simple test. He wrapped his ankles around Remus’ legs, captured his wrists, and flipped them over.

Remus made a surprised but obviously pleased noise into his mouth. Sirius ground down against him and nudged Remus’ jaw up so he could access the lightly stubbled skin below. He bit down into the muscle of Remus’ neck, hard. Remus gasped and jerked, trying to twist out of Sirius’ grip. It was exactly the same struggle and corresponding rush of adrenaline Sirius remembered from before. He sucked harder, and Remus whimpered, rocking their hips together greedily. These were the beginning steps of a familiar, beloved dance, one where he pulled Remus’ composure apart piece by piece until there was nothing left but the most delicious, unrestrained parts of him.

Sirius grinned as he finally let Remus’ neck go and licked at the red mark he had made. He was dizzy with lust, heartbeat pounding all throughout his body in a steady thrum. His kinks were not only still there, they were suddenly all impatiently clamoring for attention, like children that had been left alone too long. He felt such an intense rush of ideas and urges that it was actually a bit hilarious.

“You wouldn’t _believe_ all the crazy things I want to do to you,” he said, half-laughing.

“Fuck, Sirius,” Remus said breathily. He twisted his wrists in the way that signaled Sirius should actually let go instead of hanging on tighter. Once released, Remus brought his hands down to flutter distractedly over Sirius’ shoulders and back. “You can do whatever you want.”

That was probably not strictly true, but Sirius appreciated the sentiment. There were some things he wanted that he had never even gotten the courage to ask about, back in the day. He had been too afraid of rejection, but now he thought it would be worthwhile to at least ask—not tonight, but soon.

“I intend to,” he said confidently and slid down to give Remus’ nipples a taste of his teeth. 

After just a few minutes of that, Remus had broken out into a sweat and was twisting his hands into the sheets, head thrown back. Sirius gave him one last lick and sat up. While Remus was recovering, he leaned over to open up the bedside table, looking for the array of objects that had always been on hand back at their flat. Back then, Sirius had taken particular joy in fishing something out while Remus was too dazed to notice, allowing him to put it to use before Remus was fully expecting it. Now, Sirius opened the drawer to find…socks. He sighed, realizing he would have to give up on the element of surprise.

“Remus, where are the toys?” he asked plaintively. He was sure they must be here somewhere. Remus had always been a bit of a collector.

Remus slowly opened his eyes, licking his lips and taking a moment to come back down from whatever lovely place he had been in. He sat up shakily and flapped his hand in the direction of their discarded clothes. “Need my wand.”

Sirius retrieved it, along with his own, just in case, and watched while Remus summoned an incredibly boring-looking muggle file box from the closet. To Sirius’ amusement, it was labeled, “Old Syllabus Notes,” and he could indeed see stacks of parchment through the open handle-holes of the box. Remus said another spell and then leaned down to exhale over the seam of the box—an identification charm. Sirius rolled his eyes.

“Merlin, Remus, don’t you think that’s overkill?”

Remus gave him a look. “Fred and George visit this house a lot.”

“Ah.”

“Exactly.”

Remus lifted the lid off the box, and Sirius reached for it with grabby hands. Remus flopped back onto the bed, idly stroking Sirius’ legs and the side of his hip while Sirius took stock. Now that Remus had removed the charm on the contents, he could see the box was full of things that made his heart go all fluttery with possibilities.

“Ooo, I like these,” Sirius said, pulling out a pair of cuffs made of soft brown leather.

“No,” Remus said a bit sharply, and his hand flexed on Sirius’ thigh. Sirius raised his eyebrows. “Sorry…it’s just, I couldn’t stand it. I need to touch you.”

Sirius smirked, pushing himself lewdly into Remus’ hand. “Too hungry for my skin, huh?”

Remus didn’t answer, not aloud. Instead, he rolled closer and licked a warm line up Sirius’ thigh. Sirius’ breath caught, and he rolled his hips, shamelessly aiming his cock towards Remus’ mouth. The box lay forgotten for a few moments as he lost himself in the shockingly divine swirl of Remus’ tongue. He slipped his hands into Remus’ brown curls and held him tight for a few mutually-indulgent thrusts.

“Lemme look at that box. Unless this is all you want,” he said after a minute, reluctant and breathless, and laughed when Remus immediately pulled away. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Not that I would be sorry, mind.”

“I would be,” Remus said, sitting up to kiss Sirius’ shoulder. “Besides, I know you.”

“You really do,” Sirius said, tilting his head to kiss him before turning back to the box. Remus rested his head on his shoulder to watch, hands still roaming. “Right, no cuffs,” Sirius said. “Let’s see what else—oh, no way! I can’t believe you kept this!”

He pulled out a black leather flogger, the one he had made himself at a workshop just a month or so after they had gotten together, the very same flogger James had offered to turn his life’s fire into.

Remus reached out to run his fingers through the long leather strips affectionately. “I did get rid of most of your things,” he confessed. “But the nice stuff is awfully expensive. And this one was always more mine than yours, really.”

“You’ve got that right,” Sirius said. “Well, we’ve got to use this. It’s a classic. And then, hmm…” He dug through the various silicone shapes neatly lined up along one side of the box, surreptitiously watching Remus out of the corner of his eye. He settled on a ridiculously blue insertable toy, because it had a promising crook in the end of it, and because Remus unconsciously bit the inside of his lip when Sirius held it up to consider. “This one. Now we have an old favorite and a new one.”

He put the box on the floor and then, without further ado, tackled Remus down flat on the bed. Remus laughed and squirmed, trying to get away. He didn’t try too hard, though, and shortly Sirius had him pinned just the way he wanted him, face-down and arse up. Sirius pressed his face against Remus’ spine, grinning, hard as a rock, and feeling Remus shaking from his own laughter. It had been so long since he had succeeded in bringing out such boyish impulses from underneath Remus’ stubborn professor-like shell.

Sirius sat up, one hand on the small of Remus’ back, panting a bit from the wrestling. There was no denying that he was horribly out of shape, and he was also aware of his prominent ribs and sallow skin. He didn’t like it, but it didn’t give him too much grief. Before, his appearance had made him feel like a walking failure, but now he saw it as a challenge. He needed food and exercise, that was all. He could handle that.

Remus, on the other hand… Sirius had rarely looked worse in his life, but Remus had probably never looked better. He didn’t seem to have hardly any new scars, thanks to the Wolfsbane, and Sirius truly appreciated all the new curves and soft areas, which had surely been hard-won on a werewolf metabolism. Sirius ran his hands all over him, exploring the new shapes with delight. Remus’ laughter faded quickly, and he pressed his face into the sheets, hooking one hand around Sirius’ knee, maintaining contact. Sirius traced his freckles, ran his hands through the hair on his chest, and kissed him wherever he could reach. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous.”

“It’s a good thing you think so,” Remus said with a tone of slight self-mockery. “Someone’s got to.”

“Excuse me,” Sirius said with playful sharpness. “I hope you’re not insulting my deliciously attractive boyfriend. I’m very sensitive to that sort of thing, I’ll have you know.”

“It’s not an insult if it’s true.”

“Oh, I’m going to make you eat those words,” Sirius vowed.

“You’re welcome to try,” Remus said insolently.

Sirius tutted and picked up the flogger. “You really are asking for it.”

The flogger had literally been made to fit his grip, but it felt a bit different now. Sirius didn’t know if it was his hands that had changed or if someone else had been wielding it. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but, after all, Remus would hardly have a file box full of paddles and such if no one ever used them on him. They weren't exactly for solo use. Best not to think about it too much, Sirius decided.

“This one is for me now,” he announced, however. “I want to be the only one to use it on you.”

“Prat,” Remus said affectionately. “It’s all for you.”

“Really?” Sirius’ breath caught in his throat, and he abruptly flipped Remus over, climbing right on top of him, leaning down to make sure he could really see his face. “Is that what you want, just the two of us?”

“Yeah,” Remus said quietly. His face was full of regret, but not for this. It was for something that had happened a long time ago. “That’s what I want.”

“Fuck.” Sirius sat up, taking a deep breath and running his hands through his hair. The very idea of having Remus all to himself had him pulsing, feverish. “I think I need to add monogamy to my list of kinks.”

Remus laughed. “I’m pretty sure monogamy is the opposite of a kink.”

“Not from where I’m sitting,” Sirius said firmly, looking at the man laid out below him. “Right. We’re doing this right now. Turn over.”

He raised himself up just enough to give Remus room to roll, craving every little brush of skin. Once they were both back in position, Sirius draped the flogger over Remus’ upraised arse, with the handle lying along his spine and the tassels dangling down around his thighs, creating a truly lovely color contrast. “Hold that for a second.”

Remus stifled a laugh but stayed in place while Sirius summoned his hair tie, which had gotten lost in the blankets a while earlier. He wanted his view to be entirely unobstructed for the coming spectacle.

“Taking a break to primp already?” Remus taunted, moving his hips and making the leather strips twitch teasingly.

“Oh, that’s it,” Sirius said. He snatched up the flogger and swung his arm back dramatically, bringing it down with a rapid swoosh that swerved away at the last moment, making Remus flinch in anticipation of a swat that never came.

“Oh, fuck you,” Remus said when Sirius laughed. “Quit fucking around and hit me already.”

That was the kind of invitation Sirius had never once declined, and he wasn’t about to start now. He drew his arm back again, and this time he didn’t pull the stroke. Remus sighed pleasingly at the thud of leather, and Sirius felt goosebumps rising under the hand he had on Remus’ shoulder.

“Better?” he asked smugly.

“Yeah,” Remus said, his voice already going warm and breathy.

Sirius had made this flogger to exactly their tastes. The well-worn leather strips were wide and soft, and there were enough of them to cause the heavy impact that Remus loved. They used to have another one with knots in it to give some sting, but apparently, it had been left behind at some point. Sirius didn’t mind. This was the one they had always ended up using anyways. Remus could take this flogger for hours if Sirius paced it right, because the sting came not from knots or beads, but from the steady build-up of thudding impact.

Neither of them had the patience for that today, though. After just a little while, Remus was moaning and melting into the bed, and Sirius was hardly better off. Bit by bit, Remus had drifted around until his head was pressed against the inside edge of Sirius’ knee. He had wrapped his arm and hand around Sirius’ thigh, and his fingertips gripped right near the curve of Sirius’ arse with each stroke. It wasn’t actually a very efficient position to flog from, but Sirius didn’t care, not when he could see how much Remus was getting off from the combined stimulation of the flogger and their proximity, not when he could feel every one of Remus’ shuddering gasps warming the inside of his thigh. He had to concentrate, though, to make sure he didn’t do something stupid like whip Remus’ bollocks with the high-speed tips of the leather. That wasn’t an easy task under the circumstances.

He managed to hang on until Remus started to really lose it. Remus’ arse and fleshy sides were red from impact by now, and he had a beautiful sheen of sweat standing on his skin. He was starting to get mouthy too, kissing Sirius’ thigh and even licking the blue dildo when Sirius brought it into range.

“Is this something you want?” Sirius asked teasingly.

“Fuck, please, yes,” Remus mumbled, only to trail off into another sigh when Sirius hit him again.

“Not until you take back your hurtful words,” Sirius said.

Remus blinked up at him hazily, uncomprehending.

“You,” Sirius trailed his finger over Remus’ saliva-dampened lips, “are beautiful. And I want to hear you say it.”

Remus ducked his head, cursing under his breath.

“You thought I wouldn’t remember,” Sirius said sunnily, as he resumed his steady, careful work with the flogger. “But I did.”

Remus had never been the type to give in easily, but he always did in the end. Today, Sirius knew he had done his job well, because it was only a few more minutes before Remus gasped in defeat and started talking.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” he said with suspicious eloquence. “Your boyfriend is quite—lovely. I’d give him a nice wank any day.”

Sirius burst out laughing and tossed the flogger aside. Using third-person should probably have been considered cheating, but he was too delighted with the joke to care. He turned on the bed and leaned down to kiss Remus’ cheek and the back of his neck. “You’re perfect. I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” Remus said, breath hitching when Sirius’ cock pushed against the side of his hip. “You’re going to fuck me too, right? Not just with that toy?”

“Of course!” Sirius said, letting his hands roam over Remus’ body again. “But first I want to play our favorite game.”

“Oh.” Remus bit his lip. He turned his face back into the sheets, but Sirius still saw the edges of his smile. “All right. Although…I’m not as good as it as I used to be.”

“That’s fantastic!” Sirius said. “Maybe I’ll actually have a fucking chance, then.” They had played many repetitions of this game back in the day, where Remus would try to hold off his orgasm despite whatever Sirius decided to do to him. Remus had won every fucking time. It was a good thing Sirius’ ego had always been robust enough to take the blow.

“We’ll see about that,” Remus said.

Sirius laughed and rolled one of Remus’ nipples roughly in his fingers. “Yes, we will.”

He pulled Remus onto his back, smiling at the way the brush of sheets on sensitive skin made Remus’ spine arch. He hooked one of Remus’ legs over his shoulder, cast a few charms, and slowly pushed the dildo inside. Remus threw his head back, panting, and tried to push himself farther onto it, hips rolling in a wanton pattern that made Sirius curse. This, really, was the function of the flogging and all the other things they did. It was all about overwhelming Remus to the point where he would do anything—writhe, beg, sob, scream—for more, with none of his usual over-structured self holding him back. It was a side of him that Sirius had just barely glimpsed for the first time when Remus had thrown caution to the wind twenty-two years ago and snogged him with lewd enthusiasm in front of a common room full of Hogwarts students. Sirius felt another heady rush of lust, remembering that from now on he would be the only person who would see Remus like this at all—unless, of course, they were in the mood to find a place to show off.

“I missed this so fucking much,” he mumbled, turning his head to press his lips to the side of Remus’ knee. Remus bucked his hips again, and Sirius cursed and let Remus’ leg slide off his shoulder, because this just wasn’t enough. He wanted more, wanted to feel every inch of him. He pushed Remus down to the bed and lay on top of him, legs alternating. He put his thigh against the base of the toy, holding it there with his hand because he was way too busy to find his wand to strap it down, and lowered his head to suck and bite at Remus’ shoulder. He had to use his other arm to hold himself up, but Remus was all clutching limbs and whimpering need, more than making up for Sirius’ relative lack of mobility. Remus’ hands were everywhere, pushing into Sirius’ hair, gliding down his chest, pressing Sirius’ cock against him as he thrust himself down on the toy in desperate, jerking motions.

If Sirius had been a different type of person, he might have let Remus come already, just to take the edge off after all this time, but of all the ways Remus could be, this was how Sirius had always liked him best, right on the edge. It would be a shame to waste it. Besides, he wasn’t about to give Remus that kind of advantage in this game they were playing.

He was nearly there himself, however, what with Remus’ open mouth panting against his and Remus’ soft thigh sliding along his cock. Finally, he had to make himself move away, sliding quickly down Remus’ chest to lick his cock. Remus’ hands twisted in the sheets, thankfully sparing Sirius’ hair. Sirius held Remus’ hip tightly and let his lips slide down, taking the solid length of his cock as far into his mouth as he could, and _fuck_ if he hadn’t been craving this all day—longer, much longer. He loved the pressure on his tongue, the way it stretched his mouth wide, the dense, heady smell of him. There was really nothing else like it.

Once he had a moment to appreciate the sheer sensuality of it, he let go of Remus’ hip and let him move, sliding his hand up Remus’ chest to pull on his nipples some more. When it came to self-control, Remus was king, and Sirius knew he would have to make use of every one of his tricks if he wanted to have a chance of winning this game. Truthfully, by now he knew he wouldn’t ever win, but enjoying the process was enough. It was hard to feel like he was getting the raw end of the deal when Remus was already breathing in great unsteady sobs, whimpering and throwing his head back against the bed.

Sirius pulled off and licked at Remus’ slit. He pulled hard on his nipple until Remus looked down at him, pupils blown wide behind lowered lids.

“There we go,” Sirius said, scraping his nails down Remus’ stomach. “Watch.”

Remus nodded, and this time when Sirius went back to work he could feel Remus’ eyes on him, making his body temperature rise wherever his gaze fell.

“Fuck, Sirius,” Remus said, voice blurry with desire. “Feels—so _good_. Don’t stop—”

Sirius sucked harder and fucked him faster with the toy in response, delighted to hear Remus talking at all. He usually had to push to get Remus to say anything when he was this far gone. Remus sobbed and writhed on the bed, obviously fighting hard to keep his head up and his eyes open as he had been instructed to do. He hooked one leg over Sirius’ shoulder and rolled his hips, thrusting into Sirius’ mouth over and over, and Sirius throbbed, eyes fluttering closed at the warm ache of it.

Remus was clearly all the way on the edge now. There were tears starting to run down his face and an uneven flush spreading over his body. The only question left was how long Sirius would be able to stand to keep him there. Gods, he wanted to keep him like this all night. But even more than that, he wanted to make Remus come. Logically, he knew it wasn’t going to happen, but it was hard to remember all the times he had lost the game when Remus was like this, thighs trembling, hands fluttering and gripping whatever he could reach, mouth red and keening. Sirius couldn’t help but try to make it happen anyways, every time.

“Fuck, _please_ ,” Remus was saying, obviously overstimulated beyond what anyone else would have been able to bear. “Oh, _gods_ , fuck, I can’t—”

He tried to push Sirius’ head away, but that was no safe word and Sirius knew better. He pried Remus’ hand off his head and held his fingers tight, pumping the toy against Remus’ prostate with all his might. He pulled off just enough to take a deep breath in through his nose and flicked his tongue forcefully against the underside of Remus’ cock. Remus sobbed once more, bucked his hips, and suddenly he was coming, spurting into Sirius’ mouth in powerful rushes.

Sirius jerked in shock, only barely managing to hang on. He couldn’t believe it. He had actually fucking _done_ it—Remus was coming. He sucked air in desperately through his nose, trying to maintain his poise enough to keep moving his tongue. After all this time, he had finally torn away the last shred of Remus’ self control, had literally made him come undone. He had never felt so high in his life. It was pure, unadulterated power, the way raw magic must feel if one stripped away all the wands and spells and other earthly contraptions, better than any fuck could ever have been. It poured through his veins, hot as molten gold, divinely overwhelming, glowing so brightly that all he had to do was lower his hips to the bed and he came with just one desperate, glorious thrust. 

He had never come so quickly or so hard before. He hadn’t even known it was possible. He felt it vibrating through his whole body, ringing with the low, resonating tones of a bell cast hard and shining in Remus’ gold, sounding a note that was theirs alone. Remus’ hand was gentle on his cheek, overwhelming, adoring. He was simply perfect, and Sirius was higher than any creature on earth, powerful and grateful and pure.

It took him a few minutes to float back down, and when he landed, his face was pressed against Remus’ sweat-slick thigh and his ears were ringing.

“Merlin, Remus,” he mumbled, slurring, drunk on it all.

Remus groaned and pulled weakly on their intertwined hands. Sirius managed to raise himself up just enough to crawl up Remus’ body, remembering to pull the toy out somewhere along the way. He collapsed half on top of him, mouths close but not touching. He was so over-sensitized that even the pulse of Remus’ shaking breaths felt more intense than any kiss.

They drifted like that for a while, then Remus stirred and began to run still-shaking hands through Sirius’ hair, making him shiver.

“Still awake?” Remus asked.

“Mmm. Mostly. Although I don’t know how. I don’t even know how to count when I last slept.”

“Do people sleep there, then?”

“Yeah. It’s a lot more like here than I would have thought…but also not. I missed you like you wouldn’t believe. I watched you like a crazy person every time you were on that screen.” Sirius chuckled. “I watched us fuck. A lot. You’ll be happy to hear I kicked James out for those bits. Although, apparently he’d seen it all already.”

“Oh gods,” Remus groaned.

“I know. They take voyeurism to a whole new level up there.” Sirius smiled and pushed himself up on one elbow. “So, Remus, my love, tell me—” He stopped mid-sentence when Remus’ face suddenly blossomed into the most beautiful, besotted smile he had ever seen. It took Sirius a breath to realize why, then he grinned. “My _love_ , my Moony, my Moonbeam, love of my life, brightest light in my starry sky—” he continued on in this vein, making use of more and more ridiculous pet names, watching with delight while Remus turned red and giggled like a teenager, until he finished with _Moonywobbles_ and Remus shrieked and covered Sirius’ mouth with his hand. Sirius smiled down at him, caught his hand, and kissed his fingers. “Remus. Now, tell the truth. Did you let me win?”

Remus’ eyes widened guiltily under Sirius’ stern look, and the truth was self-evident.

“I knew it!” Sirius shouted. “You’re such a—I can’t believe you!” He prodded Remus’ sides, tickling him.

“No, don’t!” Remus laughed and squirmed away. “It’s—a Christmas present—oh gods, stop!”

“I take back all my compliments,” Sirius said, although he did stop. “You’re _terrible_.”

“What’s wrong, didn’t you like it?” Remus asked with a teasing smile.

“Of course I did. I fucking loved it, you arse.” Sirius flopped back down onto the bed and wrapped his arms around him, squeezing hard. “You set it up from the beginning, didn’t you? Or are you really not as good at holding on as you used to be?”

Remus smirked. “I’m better.”

“Smug motherfucker. Don’t think this means I’ve given up, because I haven’t.”

Remus turned his head to kiss him, slow and steady. “I hope you never do.”

“It’s a promise,” Sirius said. He sighed and let his head drop back down onto the pillows. “I’m still going to fuck you. In like…fifteen minutes.”

“Mmmm. Tomorrow.” Remus arranged the covers over them and wrapped himself around Sirius with an intimacy that made Sirius glow.

“Yeah, tomorrow,” Sirius agreed. Remus pushed his face up against Sirius’ neck, and they had almost drifted off again when he felt Remus gradually growing tense in his arms.

“Sirius,” Remus said at last with a heavy sigh. “You wouldn’t let me say it before, and then it was too late, so I’m going to say it now.”

“Say what?” Sirius yawned.

“I’m sorry.” He took another deep breath. “I'm sorry I didn't tell you about Rolf. And I'm sorry for fighting with you. It was…I was all twisted up about some things, in my own head. It didn't have anything to do with you, and I let it bleed over. I'm sorry.”

Sirius’ eyes widened and his arms tightened unintentionally around Remus’ shoulders, struck not so much by Remus’ apology as by his reaction to it. Back at the cottage, that first day together after so long apart, the idea of Remus apologizing to him had filled him with repulsion. He hadn’t been able to process the concept of Remus doing something wrong. How could he, when all of his emotional stability had relied on Remus’ care and composure? He had needed Remus to be perfect and couldn’t even let himself think about the alternative, so he had twisted things around to make everything his fault instead.

He had watched those four years on the Muggle television screen very carefully, studying all the emotions Remus’ face had shown when Sirius had had his back turned or his eyes closed. He had missed a lot back then. He had missed the depth of Remus’ turmoil about being in the Order, and he had missed a dozen moments when Remus had been about to tell him. Sirius had blown it every time by being selfish or failing to listen. And, yet, it still hadn’t been his fault. He had also seen how desperately Remus loved him, with the same kind of clinging, almost panicking need Sirius himself had felt. Remus had been terrified of losing him. It had made him stupid, and eventually, it had made him mean. Sirius understood that very well.

Sirius scooted down the bed until they were eye-to-eye and looked at Remus for a long time before he finally just said, “Thank you. But it’s all right.” He pulled Remus back in close, right where he belonged. “I forgave you a long time ago.”

He kissed Remus’ temple and held him until the last remnants of tension faded, and then it was just the two of them, wrapped up in each other’s glow. He felt secure here, he realized, in this old house that Harry, Remus, and the others had made new, secure enough to fall asleep without fear of nightmares. The only true darkness remaining was far above them, and even that black blanket of sky was full of kind, familiar stars.

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I have two more fluffy little fics that take place after this one, same universe. Both should be complete by Christmas, so subscribe if you want to read them. <3


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